The Best of All Possible Worlds
by fishogynist
Summary: There's yet another new nurse, and yes, she's got issues, a teddy bear, and a thing for Voltaire.
1. Olive Grey

Title: The Best of All Possible Worlds  
Rating: T – eventually a bit M-ish  
Summary: There's yet another new nurse, and yes, she's got issues. And a thing for Voltaire.  
Warning: 1) First few pages are boring, I know, but I promise Beej and Hawk appear eventually. 2) There will be gratuitous Radar lust at a later point, because let's face it, the boy doesn't get enough action. (It helps if you imagine him as a real 19-year-old boy, not a 30-year-old actor, not that I don't adore Gary Burghoff.) 3) I usually try to aim above the cliché, but the 'Welcome New Nurse' stories are oh-so-fun.  
Feedback: All honest comments are welcomed, whether they're flattering, withering or indifferent.

Olive sat primly in the one chair in the clerk's office, which served as an antechamber to Colonel Potter's office. She'd spent the last five minutes alternately spinning her hat around in her hands and tugging at the lapels of her jacket. In all honesty she liked her dress uniform; it was the same color as her hair, and made her feel like it was easier to blend into the background and not be noticed. Or at least it had on the trip from Tokyo to her new M.A.S.H. unit with a new anesthesiologist and another nurse. But here in this sea of so many shades of drab green, she felt like she was some sort of curiosity, as out of place as was possible.

She paused in her fidgeting to pull her fingers through her hair, a nervous attempt to neaten herself up, but the jeep ride had done little to tame her mess of curls, short though they were. Giving up on first impressions, she situated her hat firmly back on her head, and was left with nothing to do but pull on her jacket again.

A furtive glance at her watch showed that she'd been sitting there five minutes and thirty-seven seconds. She couldn't imagine what the colonel was saying to Second Lieutenant Stiggins, the anesthesiologist, and she was dreading her own interview more and more with each passing second.

Olive glanced around the room once again, pulling on her fingers to keep herself occupied so she'd forget to be quite so nervous. Still the same cot, wall of filing cabinets and pigeonholes, small neat desk, and heavily occupied corporal. He hadn't raised his eyes since dropping them after his short introduction as he brought her and Stiggins in from their arriving jeep. The other nurse, an older, chatty woman who'd introduced herself only as Janet, had evidently been reassigned to the 4077th after a brief stint at another hospital. As soon as the car had stopped, she'd bounded off into the camp to find a Major Houlihan and to reclaim her old bunk.

Another look at her watch. Almost six and a half minutes now. The corporal got up and reached into a filing cabinet before settling back down at his desk. He pushed his smudged glasses closer to his face and began typing. Olive found the big toe inside her right shoe tapping to the rhythm of his typing as she moved from pulling on her lapels to cleaning her own army-issue spectacles on the hem of her skirt. When the bell dinged on the typewriter for the third time, the corporal jumped up, grabbed a file off his desk and turned to her. She hastily pushed her glasses back on as she stood. "It'll be just a second," he said. Before she even had a chance to nod, a voice called, "Radar!" from the inner office.

The corporal pushed the door open, and Olive listened attentively. "Yes sir?"

"Show Lieutenant Stiggins to his tent and bring the new nurse in, this—" Radar stepped inside to hand Colonel Potter the file he'd snatched from his desk. "Lieutenant Grey."

"Will do, sir. You can come with me sir." Radar stepped out into his own office, followed by Stiggins. "You can go in now, ma'am."

Wide-eyed, Olive stood and glanced up at Stiggins, who smiled warmly at her with a little nod towards the colonel's office. It couldn't have been too terrible. "See you round, Lieutenant," he perked as he and the corporal headed outside.

She nodded to herself and with one last tug at her jacket, she strode with what she hoped looked like confidence into the office, and paused in front of the desk of what appeared to be a perfectly rational, perfectly friendly man in a casual army uniform. A blush rose to her face quickly as she realized she was probably meant to salute him, and she did so, awkwardly, with a quiet, "Sir."

"At ease, soldier," he smiled. "Welcome to the 4077th. Have a seat."

"Thank you, sir," she nodded and perched in the same stiff way she had outside, watching as he opened her file. He put on a pair of reading glasses and glanced over the few sheets the folder contained before speaking again.

"First Lieutenant Olive Grey," he mused. "You've got a name that was made for the army, haven't you?"

"Yes sir, so it would seem."

"Military family?"

"In a way, sir. My grandfather was an army medic in England in World War I, sir, and my father used to design weapons for the armed services."

"One generation helps take the soldiers apart, the next generation helps put them back together, that how it works?"

"Well my older brother's a surgeon, a captain now, here in Korea. But my younger brother and I, we signed up together the day after his eighteenth birthday, sir, he's a soldier, regular army."

"So I suppose that answers the question, 'What's a fine young girl like yourself doing in a lousy pit like this?' It's in the genes?"

"So it would seem, sir. Apart from that recessive taking-soldiers-apart gene."

"Well I'm glad you're on our side of things, Olive," Colonel Potter smiled. She felt her blood pressure lowering. At least her commanding officer seemed pleasant enough. "This your first M.A.S.H. unit?"

"Yes sir." She pulled on her lapels again.

"Straight out of training, huh?"

"Yes sir."

"Right out of school?"

"Top of my class at UCLA, sir. I've done a lot of work at the medical center there since finishing school."

He nodded to himself and stood up, walking to the edge of his desk which he leaned on and looked at Olive with an expression she didn't quite understand.

"Then I've got some good news and some bad news. The good news is this is a great camp with the best damn doctors and nurses and just plain people I've ever worked with, and I think you're going to fit in just fine."

"Thank you, sir. But the bad news?" she prompted.

"The bad news is, this is one hell of a place for a kid like you to get an education." He looked down at her as she fiddled with the last button of her jacket. She looked up with doe eyes as he paused. "We're not five miles from the shooting, we get a lot of banged up soldiers, some of them are even younger than you. You're what, twenty-two?"

"Twenty-three, sir."

"Last week we had an eleven hour surgery shift where I had a nineteen-year-old soldier come through with so much metal in him it looked like he'd eaten a jeep. One soldier'd lost his whole leg to a shell blast, was in such bad shock he didn't know he'd been hit. Another had a hole in his gut you could put your fist in. We lost him." He paused for a moment and moved back to his chair behind the desk. "I don't want to scare you, Lieutenant, but I think you might want to know what you're up against here. This is as far away from textbook medicine as you're ever likely to find. The OR here can suck the life out of a person, and I don't think you've lived enough to let a hellhole like this suck you dry."

"I've done a bit of living, sir," she said, trying to sound more sure of herself than she felt.

"I'm sure you have." He gave her a watery smile. "Now if you ever need anything, I try to be around for my staff, and there's always the rest of the crew, there's not a one of them that wouldn't help out a friend in need. Well, Winchester is a last resort," he amended. "Our Major Houlihan is a great gal, your Chief Nurse. As long as you don't get on her bad side, she's a real peach. Problem is her bad side's about a mile wide."

Olive nodded.

"Well, you look like you could use some rest. Dinner'll be served in about an hour, but I warn you, the food's almost as palatable as the surgery around here. I'll get the major to show you to your tent and help you get settled."

"Thank you sir."

"Radar," Colonel Potter called.

The corporal opened the door. "Major Houlihan's here, sir."

"Thank you, son," he nodded and stood as a stern looking blonde came into the office. Olive hurriedly stood and saluted her as Radar disappeared back into his office. "Major Houlihan, meet your new nurse, Lieutenant Grey."

Olive didn't miss the look of disappointment that flitted over the major's face. "Let's get you settled, Lieutenant," Major Houlihan said. "I expect you to be ready to work in the morning."

"Of course sir. Ma'am!" she corrected herself hastily.

The major scowled at her. "Will that be all, Colonel?"

"Just show the girl around, make her feel welcome."

"Of course, sir. Follow me." And with that Olive found herself scurrying after the major and dodging mud puddles in her heels while trying to get a feel for the layout of the camp. The major was pointing out various places of interest, such as the chaplain's tent, the mess tent, the supply tent, the nurses' latrine and shower, and Olive knew that in five minutes she'd be hopelessly lost in the maze of army green canvas and camouflage. Just as the major was pointing out her own tent and explaining explicitly how she didn't want to be disturbed except in the direst of emergencies, a tall blond man ambled up to them.

"New nurse, Margaret, or are you babysitting?" he quipped.

"And this, Lieutenant, is one of the doctors I planned to warn you about."

"My reputation precedes me I see," he bowed. "I'm BJ, nice to meet you."

"Olive," she said quietly and shook his proffered hand.

"Captain Hunnicut is one of our surgeons," Major Houlihan announced, "and one of our chief troublemakers. This is Lieutenant Grey, and I would appreciate it if you and Pierce would refrain from corrupting her."

"Wouldn't dream of it. We'll let the army do that instead."

Margaret let out a huff and stomped away. "I'll show you to your tent now, Lieutenant."

"Nice to meet you, sir," Olive managed to peep over her shoulder as she followed. She slipped briefly in the mud but quickly regained her feet and caught up with the major as BJ shook his head and made his way to the Swamp.

"I want you to stay away from Pierce and Hunnicut as much as you can. Out of all the despicable men in this camp, those two are the worst. No discipline at all, everything's a joke to them. And Klinger, he's always up to some stunt trying to get discharged. You're probably at least two sizes smaller than him, but if you find any of your stockings or dresses missing, he's almost certainly to blame."

"I'm sorry?"

"And fraternization with any of the male staff is of course frowned upon in the most serious manner, and will not be tolerated."

"Of course."

"Here is your tent," she announced, opening the door and stepping inside. Olive followed. It was more homey than she'd expected: There were two bunk beds, four lamps, and a stove heater at the far end of the room. The lower bunk nearest the door was neatly made, makeshift shelves over the bed head, and a small table at the end, her footlocker and bags placed alongside on the floor. The rest of the tent was filled with books and photos and clothes and hair curlers. A woman sat cross-legged on the top bunk on the other side of the room, and Olive smiled at her nervously. "Olive, this is Ginger Bayliss. You'll also be bunking with Lydia McCreely, who's on duty right now. I'll leave you to get settled, and after dinner I'll show you around the hospital."

"Thank you, ma'am," Olive nodded, and the major left.

"Don't let her scare you too much," Ginger perked, sliding off her bunk to shake Olive's hand. "Her bark's worse than her bite. She likes to think she's in charge."

"She's not?"

"Only a little bit. Need any help unpacking?"

"No, I think I've got it, thanks." Olive sat carefully on her bunk, and winced as it squeaked.

"So where you from?"

"Los Angeles."

"Really? Wow," Ginger breathed as Olive opened her trunk.

"Well sorta. I grew up in Santa Paula, that's a little ranching suburb up the coast. But I went to school at UCLA. It's not as interesting as you think. LA I mean."

"It's gotta be better than Chicago."

"That where you're from?" Olive glanced around and decided to arrange her books on her meager shelves.

"Yeah. I mean I miss it like crazy, but I think I'd miss LA more."

"My grandparents live in Chicago. I like it there."

"Next time you visit your grandparents after the war, you'll have to visit me too," Ginger smiled. "Then you can take me back to LA with you, show me the sights."

"That sounds like fun," Olive grinned.

"I've always wanted to put my hands in Cary Grant's handprints at the Chinese Theater."

"I can almost fit both my feet into one of Gary Cooper's footprints."

Ginger laughed heartily. "Is the Hollywood sign really as neat as it seems?"

"I dunno," Olive shrugged. "I don't really notice it anymore." She finished with her books and reached into her footlocker. "You're making me homesick already," she smiled, pulling out a picture frame.

"Gee I'm sorry Olive. Is that what I should call you? Olive?"

"Sure. Or Liv. That's what my brothers call me."

"Is that them?" Ginger asked, moving over to sit next to her on her bunk and looking at the photograph she was holding. Olive and three other boys and what looked like their parents.

"Yeah. At our high school graduation a few years back. Me and Ash, the other one with glasses. Twins. He's still at UCLA doing his med school. The other two, David and Tim, they're here in Korea too."

"You're a cute family."

"Thanks." Olive put the photo on one of the beams over her bed head. "You have a picture of your family?"

"Oh yeah." Ginger jumped up and grabbed two frames which she handed to Olive. "That's Mom and Pop and my kid brother Jake. He thinks he's a writer, drives Pop crazy, but he's a good kid. And this is Troy." In the other frame was a photo of a very handsome man in a suit outside a house. "My boy back home." Olive looked up at Ginger as she looked at the photo lovingly.

"I bet you miss him a lot."

"I do. But, y'know, there's a lot of men around here who are good for keeping your mind off things like that."

"Oh," Olive blushed.

"Don't you have a boy back home?"

"Me? Oh no, I'm not good at, well, boys."

"Girls?" Ginger asked gently.

"No," Olive said with a chuckle, "I like boys. It's the going out that I'm not very good at."

"Well look Liv, there's five men to every one woman around here, and you're a cute girl, I'm sure you'll get better at boys and quick."

"But Major Houlihan said—"

"Oh don't listen to her, she's had her fair share of men here in Korea."

"Oh," Olive said, not sure what to think.

"Come on, I'll introduce you to the showers before we head to dinner."

* * *

"I think this cottage cheese has gone bad," Hawkeye announced, sitting down at a table with his dinner tray.

"That's because it's mashed potatoes," BJ corrected.

"If that's the potatoes, what's this?" he asked, poking at a mound of white something or other.

"I think that's the cauliflower."

Hawkeye tossed his fork down on his tray in disgust. "I refuse to eat this," he gasped. "It's been steamed within an inch of its life. I'll protest against cruelty to vegetables."

"Forget the vegetables, what about cruelty to us," BJ countered.

"I'm about ready to organize a hunger strike against our hunger."

"Would you ruffians please control yourselves," Major Winchester groused from the next table, "I'm trying to eat."

"Are you sure you want to do that, Charles?" BJ asked. "It's not good for you."

"I make it a general rule not to eat what I can't identify," Hawkeye said. As he was trying halfheartedly to identify the main course, he glanced up to see a familiar face waving at him from the chow line. "Hey, Janet's back," he perked.

"Replacement for the two nurses Margaret scared away last week," BJ said as he glanced around the mess tent for Olive. "We got a bright eyed and bushy tailed new recruit too, Hot Lips is already working on breaking her spirit."

"Is that who that little girl was I saw come in with Ginger? I thought someone had arranged a play date for Radar."

"Uh-oh, looks like playtime's over," BJ said as he watched Margaret drag the timid woman outside.

"_That's_ our new nurse?" Charles groaned, watching them leave.

"No Charles, she's a cheerleader for the war," BJ countered. "New program to improve morale. Wait 'til you see her army drab pompoms."

"She's hardly out of grade school."

"Radar wasn't even toilet trained when he got here, and he turned out alright," Hawkeye shrugged as Radar wandered by with a tray filled to overflowing with what the cook called dinner.

"That's not funny," he grumbled.

"Hey Radar, what do you know about the new blood?" Hawkeye asked.

"First Lieutenant Olive Grey, just graduated from UCLA, twenty-three, comes from a family of army doctors."

"She's not in any way related to Captain Timothy Grey out of the 3055th, is she?" Charles gasped.

"One of her brothers is an army surgeon," Radar shrugged as he tucked into his white mush. Hawkeye winced at him, half in disgust, half in amazement that he could actually consume such gunk.

"Well then, I retract all my initial misgivings about our young charge," Charles beamed.

"You're a very shallow man, Charles," BJ chastised.

"Shallow!"

"As a koi pond. I blame the aristocratic inbreeding," Hawkeye said.

"Insubordinate ingrates," he muttered as he stood to leave with a huff.

"Pretentious alliteration, that's a telltale sign of a shallow gene pool."

"Pretentious whats-its?"

"Never mind Radar, eat your cauliflower."

"It's potatoes."

"If you say so."


	2. Mail Call

Olive trembled as she scrubbed up, listening to the yells of the triage crew getting closer and closer. She hadn't been in the compound for twenty-four hours yet, and already they had casualties – what the corporal had quantified as 'a bunch of 'em'. She was grateful Major Houlihan had sent her to prep the OR instead of meeting the choppers. Even the sound of approaching helicopters had terrified her, and the command over the PA for all medical staff to prepare for surgery had petrified her, and she hadn't remembered how to move until Lydia had guided her out of the tent by her elbow. As it was she'd done enough scrubbing for two people, and the wounded hadn't even arrived yet.

"You'll do fine," Lydia soothed as she tied on her mask, breaking Olive's concentration on the soap and water swirling down the drain. "It's just like at a normal hospital OR, except instead of one table and one patient and a handful of doctors and nurses, we've got five tables, thirty patients and campful of doctors and nurses."

"Thanks," Olive cringed.

"Just take it one person, one task at a time. And don't let the major ruffle you too much."

Olive nodded breathlessly as the doors burst open and the first injured soldiers were hurried into the operating room, followed shortly by a barrage of people all yelling instructions, and Olive was very quickly overwhelmed. "Lydia, you help Hunnicut with the head wound," Major Houlihan ordered. "Olive, you'll be assisting Major Winchester." Olive nodded numbly.

"It will be a pleasure to work with one of the esteemed Grey family," Charles brayed as he scrubbed his fingers with the brush.

"Sir?" Olive peeped, jumping out of the way when BJ headed to the sink.

"Your brother is Timothy Grey of the 3055th, isn't he?"

"Well, yes sir, he is, but—" She grabbed a towel and a pair of gloves and moved closer to him, waiting for him to finish scrubbing. One person, one task at a time.

"I've read his reports, he's done some amazing work. He's saved many a limb with his procedures."

"Yes sir."

"I imagine you take after your brother?"

"Well I don't know my way around the circulatory system quite as well as Tim does, sir, but I try to do my job with the same dedication."

He took the towel from her and hurriedly dried his hands. "It's nice to work with someone from such talented stock."

"You haven't even seen her work yet," Margaret countered snippily as she helped Hawkeye with his gloves.

"Really Charles, you came from a family of doctors too, and the talent certainly didn't rub off on you, only the arrogance," BJ said through his surgical mask. "Not that I don't have the utmost faith in your abilities, Olive, your hands look very talented."

"Your eyes, though, look scared enough to jump ship," Hawkeye said.

"You'll do fine, kiddo," Colonel Potter assured her as she held out a rubber glove for Winchester. "Your brother will be proud of you. Now let's go empty these soldiers of shrapnel."

The doctors and nurses filed into the operating room where nurses were setting up IVs and the anesthesiologists were already well into putting the patients under. She worked very hard at just following Dr. Winchester and not looking at any of the patients until he stopped at a table where a strapping young man lay, his clothes torn to tatters and his belly slit open and bleeding. Dr. Winchester rattled off a series of instructions to her and another nurse named Jacobs, and she did her best to do what was asked of her and to ignore everything else, except for the occasional bar of music sung by Hawkeye.

Ignoring the painful was something she'd had quite a bit of practice in, but this was a different breed of pain altogether. After a while the background noise was all just rhythm and tone, almost a music of its own, and if she focused on the patient and the instruments and Dr. Winchester's gown and gloved hands, she could almost block out the drab green and the dirt and imagine in its stead the clean white sterility of the UCLA Medical Center.

"Watch your suction there, Nurse Grey," Margaret snapped as she paused to glance over Olive's shoulder, shattering her reverie of comfort and bringing her crashing back into the army.

"Yes sir. I mean ma'am. I'm so sorry, Major," she gasped.

"Really," Margaret huffed as she moved to the next table to check on another nurse.

Charles held up a piece of snarled metal triumphantly as he scrutinized the patient's abdominal cavity.

Olive held out the pan to the doctor to drop the bullet into and reached for a sponge, her hands trembling. She'd assisted in several surgeries at home – gallbladders, appendectomies, biopsies, hernias, a lung tumor removed – she was used to staring into a person's body, watching the blood ooze and the organs throb. But Colonel Potter was right, this was a whole different ballgame, in a room full of injured soldiers and frantic doctors. She should have listened to Tim when he'd warned her.

"His spleen's been pierced," Winchester groused as he held out another piece of metal, sticky with blood. "Sponge," he said.

"Sponge," she echoed weakly as she swallowed hard and grabbed the sponge with a clamp. Her fingers slipped and she twitched, trying to catch it with one hand before it could fall while still grasping the collecting pan for the doctor. The sound of metal on metal startled her even more, and she snapped her attention to Dr. Winchester.

"Watch what you are doing, nurse!" Charles snapped. "We're meant to be taking debris out of the patients, not putting it back in!"

"What's wrong over here?" Margaret demanded, marching back up to the table.

"Nurse Grey can't hold a pan long enough to catch a fragment, she's dropping shrapnel back into this ruptured spleen."

"You're beginning to make me doubt your competence, Nurse Grey," Major Houlihan snapped.

"I'm sorry. I'm a good nurse, I really am. It's the whole army thing that I'm not good at."

"You're an officer in the United States Army, Lieutenant, I suggest you get used to this 'whole army thing' and quick!"

"Don't be so hard on the girl, Margaret," Hawkeye chastised. "I've been here for eons and I still haven't gotten the hang of the whole army thing."

"Me neither," BJ agreed. "It's how we hang on to our sanity."

"This entire unit is made up of nothing but halfwits and insolents," Winchester snapped. "Sponge, sponge, he's hemorrhaging." Olive reached for the sponges, managed to elbow Major Houlihan in the back and knocked a set of longfingers off the tray. She winced and stepped back, not quite sure what to do with herself.

"Baxter, help Winchester," Margaret snapped. "Grey, just get—"

"Olive, I'm gonna need another unit of B blood over here," BJ announced.

"And I could use some help with this retraction," Hawkeye added.

"But sir?"

"We're bleeding here Liv," BJ warned.

"Yes sir," she squeaked, rushing toward where she hoped she remembered the refrigerated blood was kept.

* * *

_Dear Tim, _

_I've been here at MASH 4077 for a week, and, well, I'm surviving so far. After my first bout in surgery my second day here I was pretty sure I was going to die if not at the hands of a certain Dr. Charles Winchester (who's a big fan of your work) then of sheer embarrassment and terror. I won't relay the details of what happened, but Major Houlihan, our chief nurse, wants my head on a pike to parade through the village, and I've been delegated mainly to running errands and menial tasks instead of assisting, but that's fine by me. You were right when you said that war medicine is an unpleasant business, but I don't think I realized just how bad it was until that first session and that first soldier full of shrapnel. But I made it through, and even if Dr. Winchester won't let me near his table, the other doctors have been wonderful. It's getting easier with each surgery and each shift in Post Op._

_The people here are fantastic, almost makes up for the gore and horror of the operating room. My tent-mates are great in helping me get settled: Ginger's a sweet black woman from Chicago, she's really taken me under her wing, showing me around, introducing me to people. And Lydia's a very headstrong woman from Phoenix, she's helped me gain my feet in the OR. BJ Hunnicut and Hawkeye Pierce, captains, are amazing surgeons, and great for some comic relief around here – and for bootleg gin, their still is amazing, all surplus medical equipment. At least I hope it's surplus. The CO, Colonel Potter, is a great surgeon too, and he's not nearly as stern and military as I would've expected – Winchester's ten times worse. Our company clerk's called Radar, and he seems to run the camp more than Colonel Potter does. He's a strange kid who hears the choppers before they get here and know what the Colonel's going to say, but he's a good guy. Major Houlihan, well, she scares me, but I'm told she's mostly harmless. One of the medics, a real nice guy named Klinger, is trying to get out of the war on a Section 8 – by wearing women's clothes. I admire his dedication, I really do._

_I got here with a "gas passer" and another nurse, and after our first surgery session, Hawkeye and BJ threw us all a little party (although around here, whenever there's no incoming wounded it seems they're throwing a party) at the officer's club, which isn't strictly for officers, which I love. Everyone was swell (the majors weren't there, thank goodness) and I feel like I'm the camp little sister – they bought me grape kneehighs, and Father Mulcahy and Dr. Davidson and I talked about Voltaire, and I played Klinger at pinball while everyone else slowly got sloshed_

_This place isn't at all what I expected – in a lot of ways it's worse, but in a lot of ways it's better. I don't know if all the MASH units are like this or if I just ended up in the looniest one, but all told, I'm glad I'm here._

_I hope you're doing well and being nice to your nurses and doing more things to impress the oxen like Winchester. Write me as soon as you get the chance._

_Love,_

_Olive_

* * *

Finished with her shift in Post Op, and tired of listening to men groan, Olive flopped onto her bunk, exhausted. Twenty seconds later, before she could even muster up the energy to take off her boots, there was a knock at the door.

"I'm asleep," she grumbled.

"Mail call," Radar announced hesitantly.

"Oh. Come on in, thanks."

The door opened and Radar dropped the mail bag to the floor, looking around as she sat up. "These are for you," he perked, handing Olive a box from her mother and two letters, one from each of her brothers in Korea. "Where's Ginger and Lydia?"

"Ginger's in Post Op, and Lydia's with McElroy I think. I'll sign for their packages," she said, too tired to make a real joke.

"Oh, that's okay ma'am, I'll just leave them here for 'em." He put a package on Lydia's bunk and three letters on Ginger's as Olive pulled the tape off her box.

"Oh boy, does my mom ever love me," she grinned and pulled two foil-wrapped objects from the box. "Pumpkin bread. Four loaves of it."

"Pumpkin bread, ma'am?"

"Best stuff in the world. Here, try some." She tore open the tin foil and ripped off a chunk of moist, spiced bread. "You can call me Olive, you know."

"Sorry. You can call me Radar," he said as he took the proffered piece and bit into it. "Wow, this _is_ good," he gasped.

"Didn't I tell ya?" she smiled, savoring a piece herself. He nodded and popped the rest into his mouth. "How'd you get a name like Radar anyway?"

"Sometimes I know when things are gonna happen before they happen."

"Like the choppers."

"Yeah. Hawkeye calls it ESP."

"So you read minds?"

"Some minds. Not all the time."

"Hmm," she mused noncommittally. He nodded and found himself glancing around the tent, the drawings attached to the beams and canvas with bits of tape, the book spread open, pages down on the her pillow.

"Not yours, if that's what you're worried about," he blurted. "I mean I can't read your mind. So you can think all you want, and I won't hear it."

"That's very comforting."

He smiled back and dropped his eyes. "I should finish with the mail, Hawkeye's expecting his bicycle pump."

"Y'know, I'm not gonna ask," she smiled as he gathered up his mail bag to go. "Oh wait, here, take this." She broke the loaf of pumpkin bread in half and reached onto the table for a sheet of paper to wrap it in.

"Oh I couldn't," he protested.

"Sure you could."

"Thanks," he grinned, taking it. "See you around, Olive."

"You bet." She watched as he left the tent and swung the near-empty mail bag as he headed to Hawkeye's tent. She tore off another piece of bread and nibbled thoughtfully as she pulled Tim's letter open and read.


	3. Red

Olive scribbled down the last patient's blood pressure on his chart and noted the time he'd received his new IV, hung the clipboard from the end of the bed, and stood up and stretched as she glanced around the room. She had ten minutes before she had to make rounds again to check on and medicate the more serious patients. She knew that if she sat down for ten minutes, she'd fall asleep, but if she didn't sit herself at the desk and start filling in the nightly report, she'd fall over. So she grudgingly trudged to the corner and tapped her pen on the desk as she sat. She looked at her watch, realized it was 5:37 in the morning, and decided that no human being should be asked to work at such an hour, especially if they'd been working since two am.

As if to prove her wrong, the patient in bed five let out a grunt and a murmured word. She hauled herself up and moved to his bedside, grabbing his chart as she went. "Private Penny?" she said softly. "How you feeling?" She placed a hand on his arm and he opened his good eye to look at her.

"Like someone tried to blow my face off," he grunted. "How are you feeling?"

As she warmed her stethoscope between her hands, she smiled, surprised that he'd ask that question. "Like someone who tried to put your face back together."

"Is it bad?" he asked. Her face fell, and he smiled, but instantly regretted it as he felt stitches pull at his skin. "You can give it to me straight. The gorier the details, the better my stories'll be when I get back home."

"Well, you lost a fight with a grenade. Colonel Potter operated on you, said he took enough shrapnel out of you to build a jeep. He's a fantastic surgeon though, you're going to be fine, apart from a few scars."

He reached up and touched the bandages on his face. "And my eye?" he asked when he decided that the nurse wasn't going to mention it.

"Well, we had to remove shrapnel from – "

"Will I be able to see?"

Olive pushed her glasses up. "Most likely not."

Penny frowned slightly and nodded. "I didn't need that eye anyway. Only takes one eye to work a camera."

"You're a photographer?"

"Used to be, before I got here."

"Well, it looks like this'll be your ticket home, so you'll get to be a photographer again."

"Really?" he gasped. "Home? You mean I can trade the trenches and the grime for Zuma Beach?"

"You're from LA?"

"Yeah, lived in Malibu all my life. You?"

"Went to school in LA."

"I'll bet you miss it as much as I do."

"More. Think you could breathe in some of that California salt air for me?"

"Breathe for the cute nurse who's sending me home? I think it can be arranged."

Olive smiled and finished updating his chart. She glanced up as Doctor Winchester came in from his coffee break. "We've got an early riser, eh?"

"Yes sir, Private Penny." She handed the chart to the doctor. "Vitals are fine, experiencing some mild pain, steady routine of medication has been kept all night, seems to be in good spirits."

"Good, Grey," Winchester nodded. "Why don't you see if you can scrounge up something for the private to eat?"

Obediently, she stood to leave, hoping the cooks were working on breakfast. Major Houlihan pushed her way into the ward with a load of blankets under one arm and a mug of coffee in the other. "Yes sir."

"Cute nurse?" Olive turned to the patient with a meek smile. "Want me to have a Zuma Dog for you when I get back too?"

"Nothing would be better, Private Penny."

"Call me Red."

"Olive," she grinned, then noticed Margaret was glaring at her. "Or Nurse Grey. Lieutenant Grey. Or any combination of the three. I'll get you something to eat." She dropped her head and scurried out of the hospital, towards the kitchen.

When she returned with something closely resembling toast and what was either jelly or used motor oil, Nurse Haskins was waiting for her at the door to Post-Op, where she took Red's breakfast, ordering Olive to wait outside because Major Houihan wanted to have words with her. She nodded numbly, watched Haskins disappear, and waited for Margaret.

"What were you doing in there?" Margaret's voice boomed as she stormed out of the ward and turned on her.

"Me? I don't know, I was talking to a patient?"

"You were flirting with him. You can't flirt with the wounded, Grey."

"I'm sorry ma'am, but I wasn't flirting, I was trying to make him feel comfortable. Some of the men, they like to feel like they've got friends here, like they're not just sitting here taking up space."

"We're not here to make friends, nurse, we're here to heal."

"Well you have to admit that giving a man who's just lost his eye something to smile about – "

"And what happens after the smiling? What if he expects something else?"

"Don't be ridiculous, Major."

"The soldiers that come through here have been living in trenches for months at a time," Margaret snapped. "You don't know what that can do to an already demented male mind. You can't trust them, and I will not have one of my nurses encouraging any of these filthy-minded degenerates. I have too many things to worry about without having nurses crying left, right and center because they've been violated by the wounded."

"Violated? Major, you don't – "

"Your shift is over, Lieutenant, I suggest you get some rest, you're scheduled to do an inventory check at fourteen hundred hours."

"Yes ma'am." Olive gave a weak salute and turned on her heel. Her head was throbbing, partly from the painful shift, partly from the continued neurosis of Major Houlihan. She was too tired to think about either one. Even though she'd already seen what the cook was plotting for breakfast, she headed for the mess tent, where she reluctantly accepted a plate of oatmeal roughly the consistency and flavor of cement, a glass of canned milk and something that might at one point in its life have been a bovine creature before it was crammed into sausage casings roughly thirty years ago.

She took her tray and flumped at an unoccupied table, letting the men who were just coming off guard duty occupy themselves at the other end of the tent while she tried to convince herself that she was too tired to notice the taste of her breakfast. She was a third of the way through her gruel when Radar wandered in, filled up his plate with oatmeal, toast, so-called eggs and sausage, and paused to fill a mug with coffee. "You're a braver man than I," she announced groggily.

"What? Why?" he asked as he moved to sit across from her.

"I don't see how you can eat all that. It's hardly food."

"You get used to it."

"God I hope not." Radar shrugged and tucked into his breakfast. "Are you always up this early?"

"Yep. Lots of work to do. It helps to get an early start before everyone else is up and bugging me. You're just getting off post op duty, right?"

"Yeah. Nearly killed me. Probably get used to that too."

"Probably. Does Major Houlihan still have you on inventory duty?"

"Yeah. _That_ I'm used to. I've spent the last two weeks counting tongue depressors. I think she's trying to punish me, but I kind of like it."

"You like that?" Radar gasped around his oatmeal.

"Sure. Me in a room where it's warm and dry, counting all day. It gets kinda boring and it's too quiet, but it beats being yelled at by the major. It's the being banned from the OR and always getting pre op duty that's getting irritating."

"You like being in the OR? You're a braver man than me. Braver girl," he amended quickly, obviously flustered. "Woman. Uhh…person?"

"You get used to it," she smiled, and paused to yawn before choking down another mouthful of oatmeal. She washed it down quickly with a gulp of milk, and decided that wasn't any better than the oatmeal. "Well it's been nice chatting, but if I don't get to my tent, I'll end up asleep in my…whatever they call this stuff. You're welcome to my sausage if you think you can stomach it."

She stood up and Radar snatched her sausage from her tray with a "Thanks" from a mouthful of toast. She gave a groggy wave and headed outside, dropping her tray on the table on her way to what she was startled to notice she called home.

* * *

Radar peered cautiously into the tent, and when he felt certain there was no activity inside he might be interrupting, he knocked on the door. After getting no answer, he knocked again, shifting his weight from foot to foot as he realized he wasn't going to get an answer. 

"Nurse Grey," he said softly as he stuck his head into the tent. She was curled up in bed, blankets tight around her neck. "Nurse Grey," he said a bit louder as he stepped toward her bunk. "Olive?"

"Mmmmgh," she grunted, burying herself deeper into the covers for a moment before blinking her eyes open. "Hmm? Radar?"

"I'm sorry ma'am, but you're supposed to be in the supply room – "

"Oh no," she gasped, throwing off her blankets and bolting upright in bed, narrowly avoiding hitting her head on the top bunk as she reached for her glasses. "The major must be so angry, she's going to kill me, I've only been here two weeks and already I've done nothing but mess things up – "

"Oh, she doesn't know. I mean, I don't think she does."

"No?" Olive asked. She paused to grab her jacket, and it was then Radar realized she'd been in bed fully dressed, aside from her boots.

"No. I thought I'd help you, but you weren't there. So I thought I'd find you before Major Houlihan did."

"I guess I overslept," she announced, reaching for her alarm clock, which she held to her ear. "Stupid thing wound down." She tossed it on the bed irritatedly and pulled on a boot. Radar leaned down to pick up the clock, and noticed the teddy bear tangled in the blankets. He smiled at it but didn't say anything as he wound Olive's clock and set it to the time on his watch as she fought a battle with her boot laces. "You know you don't have to help me, I'm sure you've got better things to do with your time."

"No, I don't really. I mean, I've done everything that needs to be done already."

"Really? How'd you manage that?"

"Oh, well, we're not expecting any more casualties for another few days or so, so I already filled out the daily reports for the next week, and with Hawkeye in Seoul with his three-day pass, there's a lot less paperwork that needs to be filled out." He double checked the alarm clock, made sure it was ticking, and returned it to its spot. "All I've got left to do today is the requisition forms and the nightly check and make sure Hawk's not in jail yet."

Olive looked up as she finished tying her boot. "Does he do that often? Get jailed?"

"Not really, he's always too busy with, y'know, girls."

"Nurse Grey," a stern Margaret barked as she stormed into the tent.

"Yes ma'am, I'm sorry, I overslept, I'm going, right now, I'm already gone," Olive flustered as she slipped out the door that the major was holding open.

"And what are you doing in here?" Margaret sneered at Radar.

"Leaving, ma'am," he said, and she scowled at him as he scooted past her and followed Olive toward the supply tent.

"Your own office, Corporal," she snapped, and without looking at her he gave a tiny awkward salute and changed his course. "Unbelievable," she sighed.


	4. Red 2

Olive didn't look up as someone sat next to her in the mess tent. After nine hours in surgery and watching two soldiers die, one in triage before he even made it to an operating table, she really wasn't in the mood to think, to speak, or even to admit that she was on the planet. She was happy to lose herself in her reading, something she'd spent a lot of her time doing; in the six weeks she'd been in Korea, she'd read seven books, one of them twice.

"What's that?" the voice asked amiably.

"It's a book, Dr. Pierce. You should try one out sometime."

"Oh really?" He took it from her and flipped through it. "No dirty pictures, Liv, what's the point?" She snatched the book back and dog-eared her page. She picked up her mug of coffee, lifted it to her lips, then thought better of it as Hawkeye glanced at the spine of her book. "Voltaire, huh?"

"Yup. You sound surprised."

"Well, it's just you don't see much Voltaire around here. He's a bit gloomy, isn't he?"

"He blends right in."

"My point exactly. Don't you want something to brighten things up a little?"

"What, like your dirty pictures?" she smirked. "I'd have thought they'd just make you miss what you don't have."

"You think I can't get my hands on some nice dirty nurse all my own?" he gasped, sitting up proudly.

"If you could, you wouldn't need the pictures, would you?"

"Oh you're one to talk, Lieutenant Bookworm," he countered, tapping her hardback as he slouched down again.

"I have no problems getting my hands on a nurse," she shrugged, patting herself on the chest.

"Oh ha, ha," Hawkeye sneered dryly.

"Besides, I'm a woman, we don't need dirty pictures to fan our imaginations. As a species, we're above such things."

"Above what, nudity?"

"No, I'm a fan of nudity," Olive shrugged, but as she was about to continue, Margaret stormed up to the table.

"Nurse Grey," she barked, "your shift in Post Op starts in two and a half minutes."

"Yes ma'am," Olive nodded, glancing at her watch. "I know."

Margaret stared at her, Olive stared back, and Hawkeye glanced between the two with a wicked smirk, wondering who was going to win.

"Well," Margaret said firmly, "I suggest you get going!"

Olive leapt up with what Hawkeye could've sworn was a muttered "Yes sir," and in a blur of green and brown, she and her Voltaire were gone.

"Good kid, isn't she?" Hawkeye grinned.

"I thought I told you to stay away from my nurses."

"We were just sharing a little intellectual conversation, Margaret."

"Intellectual my foot."

"It's true. We were discussing French philosophers and the modern photographic arts."

Margaret shook her head at him. "Even Nurse Grey rejected you," she tutted, not hiding her wicked grin very well. "You're losing your touch, old boy."

"I'll have you know the thought of coming on to her hadn't even begun to consider crossing my mind. I don't think she's ripe yet, thought I'd wait until Olives were in season."

"Are you saying she's too young for you? Is that a hint of morals I hear creeping into your voice?"

"Me? No way. The only moral I know is, 'If at first you don't succeed, try, try again.' That's why I'll never give up on you, Margaret." He leaned toward her with theatrically puckered lips, chuckling as she pushed him away.

"In your dreams, Pierce."

"Every night, my darling."

"You stay away from me _and_ my nurses, I don't care if you're awake or asleep. And that includes Nurse Grey."

"You don't need to worry about Nurse Grey, Margaret. If you catch one as small as Olive you're supposed to throw 'em back. I thought I'd save her for a diminutive colleague of mine."

"Excuse me?" Margaret said incredulously.

"I'm holding out for the big fish, myself. Speaking of which, there goes a certain Nurse Salmon on the way to the showers. I'll catch _you_ later, Margaret." And before she could even protest he was out the door with an arm around a passing nurse.

"Unbelievable," Margaret hissed.

* * *

Olive had been trying to sleep for an hour and a half, and the time had finally come to give up on the idea of ever sleeping again. She sat up in her bunk, pulled on her boots, and considered her options. She could either sit in her tent and read, or head into the officers club for a game of pinball, or brave the mess tent to see if there was anything that looked vaguely consumable. She decided on finding food, simply because she was tired of looking at her tent. As soon as she stepped outside, however, Margaret appeared and demanded she come to Post-Op to help discharge patients. Yawning, Olive readily agreed. Seeing patients off to the hospital in Seoul, and then home, was definitely her favorite part of her job.

When she got to Post-Op, she was thrilled to see Red prepped for the ambulance ride. "Hey, you're not going home, are you Private Penny?" Olive gasped.

"I'd stay here forever with you if I could, Nurse Grey," he perked, giving her his warm, wide smile. "But since you've already declined all my proposals of marriage, I guess the next best thing is going home."

"To tell you the truth, Red, I'd go home with you if I could."

"I'll wait for you forever you know," he beamed.

"No you won't, you'll find yourself a cute little beach bunny once you're back home in Malibu."

"Beach bunnies don't want one-eyed freaks."

"You're not a one-eyed freak, you're a one-eyed dreamboat."

"You've been in Korea too long," Penny laughed.

"You're telling me," she agreed as she noticed Igor approaching with a clipboard. He stopped and nodded at her, and she pulled his light jacket closer around his neck, tucked the blanket closer in around his knees, and when he took her hand in his, she squeezed it.

"Can I write you?" he asked.

"You know where to find me. But first we've gotta get you home. Ready to go?"

"Do fish sneeze?"

Olive paused a moment as she was standing up. "I really don't know."

Penny shrugged as well as he could while all but strapped to his litter. "Thought I'd ask," he smirked.

Igor looked up at Olive, obviously startled, and she just laughed. "Come on, let's get you on the ambulance before you scare the orderlies. One, two, three." She and Igor lifted the stretcher up and headed outside. "Don't you go falling for some fancy nurse at the evac hospital and forget about me," she insisted as he was situated in the ambulance and Igor went to work securing the stretcher.

"Wouldn't dream of it," he assured her. She jumped out of the way as another patient was brought into the ambulance.

"Have a safe trip, Red, I'll see you when I get home."

"Only if you approach from the right."

"That's it, Grey, you can go," Margaret announced as the last stretcher was brought out. Olive nodded, and Margaret moved to talk to another nurse as Olive watched the back doors slam closed, listened to the engine roar into life, and watched with a significant amount of envy as the ambulance sped off. She let out a sigh and decided to forgo her snack in favor of trying for another nap, and headed to the closest thing to home that she had anymore.

Olive stood outside her tent for a minute, enjoying the early summer sun and the hills that spread out behind the camp. The brush was turning yellow, the scattered trees in full bloom, a smattering of yellow mustard weeds. If she tried hard enough, she could almost block out the army tents and then it felt just like home. Back in California, her mother was sitting in the back garden, taking a break from weeding to watch the cows graze in these hills, and her twin brother was driving into these hills for a picnic lunch at the observatory with her friend Michelle, who had just agreed to marry him. But Olive spent much of her time staring into these hills waiting for wounded soldiers or bomber planes to burst from the other side.

"Heads up!" a voice yelled frantically, and Olive turned around just in time to see the baseball arcing towards her. She took two steps to the left and caught it barehanded. "You weren't supposed to catch it," Klinger admonished as he trotted up in a very smart flapper gown.

"How come?"

"It's bad for your nails!"

Olive shrugged. "I bite mine anyway, especially since getting here." She spotted Father Mulcahy wandering up with a baseball glove. "Father, catch!" she called and threw the ball into his glove.

"Nice throw, Olive," he perked.

"Where'd you learn how to do that?" Klinger gasped.

"I grew up with three brothers. I learned how to throw a curve ball before I learned how to braid my hair."

"Really? What position do you play?"

"I dunno, any infield position really. Not third though, I lost a tooth on a line drive in the fourth grade. I'll never forgive Javier for that."

"Well we got a couple teams going if you ever wanted to play with us. How long would it take you to get a glove?"

"Thirty-seven seconds."

"Come again?"

"I've got my glove in my footlocker," she announced as she dashed inside her tent. She emerged seconds later with a worn baseball glove.

"You're the first nurse we've had that travels with a mitt," Klinger said.

"It's my good luck glove. Signed by Dittmar, the LA Angels' shortstop from '33 to '39. When I was packing to come here, my brother told me this glove was the only thing that kept me alive in our stickball games, so it should keep me alive over here. I figured it was worth a shot."

"Heads up!" another voice called. Olive slipped on her glove and caught the ball as it soared toward them.

"Working for you so far," Klinger nodded with a smile. He jerked his head towards the game and, smiling, she followed him, punching her glove anxiously.


	5. Complaints

_Dad,_

_I really wish that I didn't have to be here. All this human stupidity, this righteousness, this incredible desire to tell everyone what to do and how to do it. And I don't mean the Koreans and the Chinese, I mean on both sides of this damned war. The fact that Tim and Dave and I have to be over here, that I'm helping patch together the men and boys, yes dad, boys, like Dave, that you helped to blow to bits, is nothing short of heart wrenching. And I know that you think that the bombs and guns and tanks and whatever other shit it is that you designed is just being used on the North Koreans and the Chinese. But the more we attack them, the harder they fight back, and the more soldiers come here, and the more blood ends up washed out of our gowns. Tim and I are over here trying to help repair some of the damage you've done, but Dave, the stupid boy, has always been dying to follow in ol' Dad's footsteps. So now Tim and I've got two sets of karmic baggage we're trying to clear up, and I don't know what's worse, you killing people for a paycheck and distancing yourself from the death toll, or Dave out there risking his own life to blow the head off some other naïve kid because he sees some sort of valor in it. I wish you could be here to see for yourself the_

"Olive?"

She jumped at the sound of a voice right behind her, outside her tent, and her pen left a smear of ink across the page of the book. "Hi Radar," she gasped as she turned to see him out her makeshift window.

"Sorry, but Colonel Potter wants to see you in his office."

"Right." She closed the book and slithered off her cot, straightening her jacket with one hand while checking her hair with the other.

"What's in the book?" he asked as she followed him towards the colonel's office.

"Hmm? Oh, that. Just a letter."

"One of your brothers?" He had felt the animosity even from outside the tent, and he couldn't imagine who she'd write such an angry letter to.

"No. My dad. Do you know what Colonel Potter wants?"

Radar dropped his eyes. "Well Major Houlihan's in there makin' a real big stink, and she asked me to try to connect to the 3055th after I came and got you."

"That's where my brother is," Olive scowled.

"I know."

"I don't think I'm gonna like this, am I?"

"I don't think so."

"Kindergarten let out already?" Hawkeye's voice chimed from behind them as he pushed open the door to the Swamp.

"Cross at the green, not in between," BJ perked as he followed.

"Lay off, you guys," Radar snapped and hurried his pace.

"Someone didn't get their naptime this afternoon," Hawkeye tutted.

Olive scurried to keep up with Radar, and they stumbled into the colonel's office just moments before Hawkeye and BJ.

"The lieutenant and the captains to see you, Colonel," Radar announced half-heartedly, thrusting his hands into his pockets.

"Thanks Radar," Colonel Potter mumbled.

Margaret scowled at Radar for a moment while no one said or did anything. "That call, Corporal," she snapped.

"Right, yes sir, ma'am." And he disappeared into the front office.

"What army game are we playing this time, Margaret?" Hawkeye asked, slouching in a chair at the side of Potter's desk. "Pin the tail on the nurse?"

"What are they doing here, sir?" Margaret snapped, glaring at Hawkeye and BJ.

"I thought if we were going to discuss the future of a member of our medical staff, our chief surgeon should be consulted," Colonel Potter announced. Hawkeye gave a little wave to Margaret while Olive frowned at the floor.

"And Hunnicut?"

"In case you need a second opinion," he shrugged.

"Pierce, has anyone lodged a complaint on any of our nursing staff that you're aware of?" Potter asked.

"No sir. Although I'd like to lodge a complaint about Nurse Connor."

"On what grounds?" Margaret demanded.

"On that grounds that she keeps standing her ground and rejecting my advances! How can she say no to a face like this?"

"Colonel," she whined as Hawkeye batted his eyelashes at her.

"Hunnicut?" Potter asked, ignoring the others.

"I never could say no to that face," he cooed.

"Complaints, man, have you heard any complaints?"

"Nope, not a single gripe. Not about any of the nurses anyway."

"Major, none of the surgeons and none of the nurses have made any formal complaints about Nurse Grey. And miraculously, Nurse Grey hasn't made a formal complaint about any of the lunatics we call our hospital personnel. So I want you to tell me exactly why you're trying to transfer her out of here."

"We're overstaffed, sir, and I'm sure her services would be appreciated elsewhere."

"Horse hockey," Potter grumbled. "This camp has never once been overstaffed. Need I remind you of our last all-nighter in the OR when Father Mulcahy was put on retractor duty?"

"I think Margaret's just jealous that Liv's got a prettier smile than her and she's trying to get rid of her," BJ shrugged, glancing over at Olive, who had gone more or less ignored since the meeting had begun. She smiled meekly while Margaret fumed.

"See, look at them, no comparison," Hawkeye nodded emphatically. "On that basis alone I vote we keep Liv and send Margaret elsewhere to be appreciated. I know I'd appreciate it."

"She's a distraction, sir," Margaret added, bravely pushing on in spite of the captains.

"Are we talking about the same nurse here?" Potter gaped.

"The most outrageous thing I've ever seen her do is make that great double play in our last baseball game," Pierce argued. "In fact, that's the only time I saw her outside the hospital or the mess tent all last week. And trust me, I tried to see more of her."

"But someone patched the hole in the nurse's shower again," BJ supplied. Hawkeye pointed at him with a nod.

"I did that, actually," Olive peeped.

"That was a dirty, rotten trick to play," Hawkeye chastised, thumping his fist against the desk.

"Don't worry Pierce, there'll most likely be a new one tomorrow," Potter sighed. "You're going to have to do better than that, Major. You've only let the girl in the operating room three times in the month she's been here," he added, folding his hands on his desk expectantly.

"She inexperienced, timid, clumsy and afraid!" Margaret blurted.

"We're all afraid, Major," Potter soothed. "You're a fine nurse, Olive," he said, and she snapped her eyes up from the floor to meet his. "I know you're doing everything you can here, and we'd like to keep you on."

Margaret let out a huff. "What about letting her work with her brother?"

Olive's heart leapt momentarily up, the idea of seeing her brother again filling her with joy. But the idea of leaving her new-found friends for a new camp, a new hospital full of doctors to embarrass herself in front of, embarrassing herself in front of her brother, stopped her short. She could have requested Tim's outfit, and he could have requested her, but they'd decided it was best to spread out – it was bad enough having Dave out there fighting, but it she and Tim were together and their camp was attacked or bombed, there was no way their mother would recover losing two children at once. "No, sir, I'd rather stay here, if that's alright, sir."

"I'm glad to hear you say that, Olive," Potter beamed. "Are we all in agreement then, that Nurse Grey here stays and gets to do her job, and the only thing that goes is your complaints, Major?"

"Yes sir," Margaret agreed reluctantly.

"While we're on the subjects of complains," Hawkeye perked.

"Dismissed," Potter said hurriedly. Margaret rushed outside and BJ took hold of one of Hawkeye's elbows to drag him out while he rambled off a list of complaints.

"—and all the food here's the same color, and the whole dropping bombs on us, I wouldn't mind seeing that stop altogether, and the jukebox could really use some new records, and there's far too many helicopters with these bleeding people on them, yick—"

"Thank you, Colonel," Olive smiled meekly as she backed out of the office.

"Thank you, Olive. I like having an excuse to knock some of the wind out of Margaret's proverbial sails. She's been a real pain in the patootie lately."

"Anytime I can help, sir."

"Just keep up the good work, kiddo, I know you won't let me down."

She gave him one last smile as she stepped into Radar's office. "Olive, here," Radar urged suddenly, handing her the phone.

"What? Me?"

"They're not transferring you, right?" he asked.

"No?"

"Then your brother's on the phone."

Her eyes lit up and he couldn't help but smile. "Really?"

"Really." He proffered her the receiver again.

"Tim?" she gasped as she pressed it to her ear.

"Liv! It's so great to hear from you! How'd you pull off a call like this?"

"Oh, our chief nurse wanted to transfer me to your unit and demanded our clerk call your CO, and Radar is the best guy on the planet and he got me through to you. But you, how're things going there?"

"It's been quiet actually, nothing to do for the last four days."

"I'm jealous now."

"You getting a lot of action coming through there?"

"Yeah, it's been manic. I must've seen ten miles worth of bowels in the last two days."

"So you're getting to assist again?"

"Yeah, a little bit, mainly I've been working Pre Op and Supply, but I've gotten a couple shots in the OR, with everyone but Winchester."

"Horse's ass. Him and that Houlihan of yours."

"You don't know the half of it. Did Mom send you a blanket?"

"Blanket and gloves, I think she's stress-knitting again. Haven't needed them yet though."

"Oh, send 'em to me then, it's freezing here. She sent me a scarf that I've seriously considered showering in."

"I'll see what I can do for you," Tim smirked. "Heard from Davey lately?"

"Got a letter a couple weeks ago. His friend Harley's in Tokyo doing R&R with a fractured femur, but Dave's spirits are still freakily high."

"I never did understand that boy."

"Too many of Dad's genes."

"Look Liv, I gotta go, they're flailing their arms at me, I think that's a sign."

"Yeah, Radar's started tapping his desk, he's not the flailing type. Keep writing so I don't think you've died, yeah?"

"As long as you do the same. Give Winchester a big sloppy kiss from me, and thank your clerk."

"I'll try my best."

"Love you sis.

"Love you too," she smiled, and then the connection was gone. She reluctantly handed the phone back to Radar, and she couldn't stop herself from hugging him gratefully. "Tim says thanks," she murmured.

"The hug from him too?" Hawkeye asked from the door. Olive jumped away and Radar lunged for his desk to busy himself with papers.

"No, but I'm supposed to give Winchester a kiss for him, in that 'make the toad squirm' sort of way."

"Oh, let me, please," Hawkeye beamed.

"Knock yourself out," she shrugged, "I certainly don't want to."

"Nice to see Charles' infamy is spreading," BJ said.

"I do what I can," Olive said.

"What do you guys want anyway?" Radar groused.

"I'm making a list of formal complaints and I'm looking for contributions," Hawkeye announced.

"Is there a form we'll need?" BJ asked.

"There's always a form," Hawkeye said. Radar reached blindly behind him and pulled a form from a tray as Olive slipped towards the door. "Wait, Liv, before you go," Hawkeye called, handing the form to BJ to peruse. "You have any complaints you want lodged?"

She considered a moment. "I guess you've probably got 'too many wounded and not enough peace' down, right?"

"Number two on the list," BJ nodded.

"Two?"

"Number one is 'shortage of reasonable booze'," Hawkeye grinned.

"Put me down for not enough pistachio ice cream and, um, too much monochrome in the general army color scheme."

"Gotcha," BJ nodded, scribbling on the pad of paper they'd started their list on.

"Thanks," she smiled and pushed her way out of the office.

"What about you, Radar?"

"Huh?"

"What's your complaint? Not enough nurse hugs?" Hawkeye gave him a playful leer.

"Too many nosey captains," Radar grumbled, snatching up a file and storming into Colonel Potter's office.

"Too…many…nosey…captains," BJ echoed, adding it to the list.


	6. Books

"Dish, close this one up for me," Hawkeye said, snapping off his gloves and calling into the pre-op ward for the next patient.

Radar and Klinger pushed their way into the operating room with a groaning soldier on a stretcher. "Last one, Hawkeye," Radar announced.

"But the shooting hasn't stopped yet, so don't look so relieved," Klinger added, fixing his skirt as he dashed out of the room.

"The shooting never stops," Hawkeye grumbled as a nurse snapped fresh gloves onto his hands and Radar double checked that he'd attached the IV to the hook properly.

"It's not my fault," he countered as he fled from the OR.

"Does anyone else hear that?" BJ asked, looking up from an Ethiopian kidney to listen to shell blasts and mine explosions. A plane flew overhead, showering the entire area with gunfire.

"Who ordered the war?" Hawkeye groused.

"I asked for no shelling," BJ argued. "They never take down my order right."

"Send it back, and don't leave a tip."

"Some of us are trying to operate," Charles said loudly.

"And some of us are succeeding," Hawkeye said.

"Bone saw."

"Help me finish clamping these arteries."

"Clamp."

"Get me some more suction in here nurse, before this bullet floats away."

"Long fingers."

"We need some more sponges in here."

"Long fingers."

"Is it just me or is the war getting louder?"

"I'd ask them to calm down, but it's only 8 o'clock, the noise ordinance doesn't take effect for another hour yet."

"Damn neighbors, I knew we should never have moved into this neighborhood."

"Metzenbaum scissors."

"We're gonna need more plasma over here."

"For god's sake!" There was a chorus of curses and complaints as the lights flickered off. "What have they got against our generators?"

It only took a few moments for orderlies carrying lamps to pile into the operating room, business continuing as usual. Radar was stationed at Colonel Potter's table, but he averted his eyes away from the arm that was half sawn through. The noise of the saw, however, was something that was not easily ignored. He watched Olive dabbing at the surgeon's forehead with a towel as he asked the anesthetist about the patient's vitals.

"There's the radius done," Potter said with a heavy sigh after what seemed like hours of sawing.

"Halfway through, sir," Olive soothed.

"He's bleeding too much."

"Are you sure?"

"BP's fine," the anesthetist offered.

"Too much blood," Potter argued.

"But you clamped everything, didn't you?"

"Of course I did!"

"Nurse, irrigate this for me," Hawkeye ordered as he stepped towards Potter's table to investigate. Olive did a quick count of the clamps on the table and the ones in the patient's arm.

"One of the clamps came loose," she gasped, and cautiously reached into the folds of the blanket where blood was pooling and a renegade clamp lay broken. She snatched it up, tossed it into the bucket and handed the doctor another clamp.

"You're a lifesaver, Liv," Hawkeye said.

"That means the draft board was right about exactly one thing so far," she mused.

"Everything under control here, men?" Charles asked.

"Fine, Major. More light here, Radar, come on."

"Yes sir."

"Attention, attention, all personnel. Generator power will be back on as soon as someone remembers where the back up generator has been stored. Shooting at the front line has stopped, no casualties expected for the next forty-eight hours." A cheer went up around the room. "Tonight's movie has been postponed until tomorrow. Tomorrow's movie will be Bonzo Goes Fishing." A boo went up around the room.

The doctors, nurses, patients and human lamps slowly drifted from the room to collapse in their beds, or in each other's beds, or in the officer's club. Potter was one of the last to finish, and he slumped against the empty table as the patient was carried to post-op on his stretcher. "You did a beautiful job, doctor," Olive said.

"You weren't too shabby yourself, nurse. Don't let anyone tell you otherwise."

"Thank you, sir," she blushed.

"You can relax now, Radar," he added.

"Oh, thank you," he gasped, dropping his arms and turning off the lamp

"You ever considered being a street lamp when you get home, Radar? With a little practice you could probably make it to traffic signal," Potter chirped as he headed into the scrub room.

"Ha, ha," Radar grumbled as he disappeared in the other direction to deal with his light. Olive finished dressing the patient's stump just as the corpsmen came in to move him into post op. She made sure all of her instruments were wiped and accounted for and added them to the pile awaiting sterilization, then trudged groggily into the scrub room, anxiously snapping off her gloves. Radar was already inside, his trademark woolen hat having replaced the surgical cap, and struggling to get his gown untied.

"Hold on a sec," she said with a smile that was more forced than she wanted it to be. "I'll get your back, you get mine."

"Oh, sure," he agreed, grateful just to get out of the surgical gear. He'd created quite a knot in the ties behind his neck, and her exhausted fingers fumbled with it as she tried to suppress a yawn. "If this is the best world, I'm sure glad we're not in the worst," Radar announced.

"What?" Olive gasped, her fingers slipping on the knot.

" 'All is for the best in this, the best of all possible worlds.' You say that a lot. In your head I mean."

"I thought you said you couldn't read my mind."

"Well that was before. It's hard not to notice when someone thinks one thing so much. Especially when it doesn't make any sense."

"It's from a book. _Candide_, by Voltaire. My favorite." The knot came undone and she flipped the flaps open. "I got it from my father."

"What's it mean? You can't really mean it, that this is the best world possible?" he asked, aghast as he turned to face her.

"No, I don't believe that at all. It's something Candide's teacher said all the time, even when he was dying and everything was going as wrong as it could possibly go."

"Why would he say that?"

"Because he was a very stupid man. Kinda reminds me of the people running the war."

"So then why do you say it?" he asked as she turned, prompting him to pull the knots out of her gown.

"Well, basically to me it just means life isn't fair, and people are stupid, but we just have to kinda deal with it because this is the only world we've got."

"Oh." He nodded as she pulled off her bloodied gown. "I guess that makes sense."

"It probably doesn't," she countered with a smirk.

"Well if it works for you," he shrugged.

Olive turned on the water and began scrubbing her hands. "What do you do to keep sane around here?"

"Oh, I've got my animals. They're real good at listening, and they remind me that there's good stuff in the world, people-wise. Guinea pigs don't start wars, y'know?"

"Oh, to be a guinea pig," Olive smiled.

"You and me both." Radar glanced around and found a clean towel, which he offered to her as she turned off the water with her elbow. "I'll introduce you to 'em. Sometime when the war's not so close. Babsy'll like you. Well she likes most everybody."

Olive smiled at him as she dried her hands. "I like her already." She tried to hide a yawn behind her hand. "I don't know about you, but I'm ready to collapse. We should probably get some sleep before breakfast and the morning rush which should be happening in about – " she glanced at her watch " – five hours."

He nodded, rubbing his eye, and they shuffled out of the building. "I guess I'll see you in the morning then."

"Night, Radar," she murmured with a tired wave. He responded much the same, and they went their separate ways. Lydia was asleep when Olive got to her tent, and Ginger was just settling into bed, barely awake enough to grunt a salutation before rolling over and pulling the covers up to her chin. Olive decided she was too exhausted for pajamas, and settled for pulling off her boots and stripping to her t-shirt before crawling into her bunk, where she dreamt she was a guinea pig, running from gun shots she didn't understand, until she found an abandoned pith helmet to cower in. That made the noise exponentially worse, but it kept her from seeing the ruined landscape and the flying debris and the flash of gunpowder, and when another scared guinea pig squeezed in next to her, it was warm and felt safe. She woke to late morning sunshine trying to break through murky clouds, and decided the pith helmet was more comforting than the compound.

* * *

"Olive, the cook's making chicken stir fry, but he's only got one real chicken so we gotta be – " Radar stopped dead as he stepped into Olive's tent to see her tossing the beautiful hand-bound book she was always writing in into the stove in the middle of the tent. "What are you doing?" he gasped.

"Burning my book," she said stoically as she sat on the foot of her bunk and held her hands out to the open stove, warming her fingers.

"You don't have to do that. If you needed more kindling or fire word or whatever, all you had to do was ask!"

"Oh no, we've got plenty of kindling. I just wanted to burn the book."

"But why? I thought you wrote your letters in there?"

"I did. That's why I'm burning it."

He looked from Olive to the stove and back again. He sat down on the bunk across from her. "Huh?"

"It's a catharsis, Radar, it's something I need to do."

"Catharsis?"

"It makes me feel better." She sighed. "I write letters to my dad. Really angry letters. And then I burn them in the hopes that maybe some of my anger will burn away with them, or maybe some of the things I'm angry at will go too."

"Does it work?"

"Hasn't yet, but that's not stopped me from trying."

"What do you write about?" he asked hesitantly.

"Everything. The war. The patients we see. The fact that it's cold and miserable and that even without the cold I wouldn't be able to sleep half the nights because of the sound of bombs. How sometimes the bombs are on the other side of the hills and sometimes they're in my head. How none of us belong here but they keep us here anyway because the planet doesn't know what to do unless there's a war going on somewhere. How my brother's out there somewhere in a hole fighting for his life just because our country doesn't like the way this country runs its politics or its economy and how that just doesn't make any sense! And how it's all my father's fault."

She closed the door to the stove and rubbed her hands together, trying to warm up from a cold that she wasn't entirely sure was due to the freezing weather anymore. Radar rubbed his hands together too. He looked like he wanted to say something, but he didn't.

"I know that it's not his fault, really. The war I mean. But he never did anything but help with war and fighting and killing and hating. All the guns he's designed, the rockets and tanks and everything, I've hated him for it since I was a little girl. Tim and I are out here trying to level out our family's karma by trying to take some of the pain out of the war that our dad fanned on, and it's really not working. His influence, his bad influence on everything is too strong. Our family's too messed up. Dad went to work to find new ways to kill strangers, then he came home to his newspaper, the radio and his bottle of whiskey to find new ways to kill himself and his family."

She was getting teary, and Radar could sense the panic growing in the room; he wasn't sure how much of it was his and how much of it was hers. She still stared at the burning book, the pages curling as they blackened, the glue in the covers making the embers glow brightly.

"Do you know what it's like to watch your father drink himself to death, consumed by his depression and his anger and his ignorance? Six years of selfishness where he closed himself into a little bubble and left his family outside full of nothing but blind fear? The empty feeling where you know you should do something, but you're such an emotional cripple, you've gone so numb, that you don't know what to do, or even if you did figure something out, you wouldn't know how to do it? To watch your father die in a hospital room and hating him for it all? Hating him for the work he did, the things he said, the way he abandoned your mother and ignored your brothers and for making you cry for him. Hating him for the very act of dying?"

She pulled in a sharp breath but the sob she'd been fighting slipped out and she snapped her mouth shut, closed her eyes, and gripped her own legs so tight her knuckles were turning white. Tears were streaming down her face but she didn't move to wipe them away, just held her breath for a long minute. Radar jumped up off the bunk. "Maybe I should get Hawkeye, he's real good for talking to about these kinda—"

"No," she gasped, finally looking up at him. He sat down next to her hurriedly as his mind swam with the overwhelming sense of pain and loss and fear he felt from her. "Please, don't tell anyone, I'm sorry, I shouldn't have said anything, no one needs to hear me babbling on about my stupid dead father."

"I won't tell," he said softly, looking at the stove again because it was easier than looking at her. They were quiet for a minute, and she hurriedly wiped her cheeks without taking off her glasses. He glanced back at her nervously, fleetingly, waited until she felt she'd composed herself before talking again. "If you're scared of turning into someone like your dad, I don't think you should get in the same bubble he did."

"What?" she said almost harshly.

"It's okay to talk to people about things. Especially the war, 'cause everybody here hates it. Well 'most everybody. And most people here like you, you got alotta friends here Olive, and any of 'em would listen to you if you need to talk about stuff when you need a catharisis. I know I would."

Olive looked at him with her big, sad eyes, and he looked away. "Oh, I don't want to bother anyone, there's a lot worse stuff going on around here."

"Everyone here cries." He paused to shrug and his eyes darted towards her again, briefly, before moving to stare at his boots. "I just hate that you have to."

"I hate that anyone has to."

"It's good for you sometimes though. I bet you feel better now, don't you?"

"Maybe a little bit," she admitted reluctantly.

"And gee, you know, I bet you had some good memories of your dad, you knew him a long time, right?" he asked in a voice much more chipper than he felt.

She nodded and looked at him curiously.

"My dad waited to have me when he was pretty old," he sighed. "Had a stroke when I was just a baby. Never really had a dad until I got to Korea. You never met Colonel Blake. He got sent home, but then his plane got hit."

"Oh, Radar," she breathed, squeezing his arm. He shrugged, still watching his boots, and didn't say anything for a long moment. "You know what we need?" Olive said firmly.

"What?"

"Chocolate chip cookies. A good chocolate chip cookie can make almost any problem go away."

"I think we'd need an awful lot of cookies in a place like this."

"With walnuts."

"Don't you think there's enough nuts already?" he asked, eyebrows raised high enough to almost disappear into his hat.

Olive broke into a watery smile. He thought for a second that she was going to hug him, but she squeezed his arm again. "Thanks Radar. C'mon, let's go see if there's any real chicken left in the mess tent."


	7. Affections

Author's Note I apologise for the long and/or boring bits. But they're developing a plot. Promise. Thanks for reading. And a big thanks for the reviews.

* * *

Olive was half asleep and mostly brain dead as she trudged across the camp towards her tent. She tried to remember why she'd bothered going to the weekly movie – she'd known in advance it was going to be another Bonzo flick, and she knew she wasn't going to like it, and she knew that the donuts would be at least three weeks old. But she'd gone anyway, and was bitterly disappointed that she'd lost ninety minutes of her life to cold coffee and a noisy projector that broke down twice.

She pulled her scarf closer around her neck and wrapped the ends around her hands as the wind picked up. She still hadn't sent her mother a thank you letter for the scarf, half out of not having much of anything positive to tell her about her situation, and half out of spite; not only had the woman named her daughter Olive Grey, she'd also knitted a scarf that matched her daughter's name, regardless of the fact she was surrounded by nothing but army drab twenty four hours a day. Olive wondered idly if she'd get in trouble for filling one of the scrub sinks with purple dye.

She pushed her way into her tent, disentangling her hands from her scarf. When her fumbling fingers managed to get the lights on, she was surprised to find Lydia on her bunk, holding her shirt closed with one hand and frantically straightening her hair with the other while Hawkeye continued, uninterrupted, with his ministrations on her neck. Lydia gave him a firm thwack in the chest, and he looked up just long enough to say, "Hi, Liv," before diving back in to Lydia's flesh.

Olive snapped back to activity, blinking rapidly and backing out of the tent with hurried mumble of "Sorrysorrysorry" as she stuck her arm back inside to flick off the light again. As she stumbled away from the tent she heard Hawkeye's distinctive cackling laugh and a more nervous tinkling from Lydia, and she rolled her eyes. She thought briefly of going back in and breaking up the party so she could get some shuteye, but she couldn't begrudge her bunkmate a bit of pleasure, and she knew Hawkeye would make it more of a hassle than it was worth. So, reluctantly, she trudged back through the camp towards the mess tent, where it would have to be at least reasonably warm, and she might be able to get herself another stale donut.

The sound of a few notes picked out on a piano caught the wind, though, and she changed her course for the officer's club instead, wondering who was playing. It was a honky-tonk, so that ruled Father Mulcahy right out. Sgt. Vanderslice maybe, writing impromptu songs about nurses again. His playing did tend to get sillier as the night progressed, as evidenced by last week's song, titled "Olive of My Eye", which had contained every bad martini joke she'd ever heard, set to a song that sounded suspiciously like a number from "The Pirates of Penzance."

She paused as she approached the building as a pacing figure caught her eye. She was startled for a moment by the strange form moving along the corrugated tin wall, and was even more startled when it turned and she realized it was Major Houlihan. "Nurse Grey," she mumbled, approaching her and stepping into the flood lights.

"Major Houlihan," she answered warily.

"Are you married?"

Olive took a step back. Not because of the abruptness of the question, or because she was well aware that the major knew the answer, but because it was quite obvious that the major was well on her way to being undeniably drunk. "No, ma'am."

"Good." Margaret nodded. "You should be happy about that. Because men? They're pigs. All of 'em. Even the military ones. '_Specially_ the military ones."

Her voice was nasally and distant, and her eyes seemed vaguely crossed, like they weren't focusing properly. Typical symptoms of drunkenness that looked so very foreign on the usually uptight major. "Yes, ma'am," Olive said helplessly.

"Although you wouldn't know about that, would you? A pretty young thing like you, you're the ones they like, the ones they want. And I'm even a blonde!"

"I'm sorry Major, but I don't—"

"How many of the doctors here have you had?"

"Had?" Olive's eyes went almost painfully wide and she blushed furiously.

"Or the orderlies or the MPs. How many men, Lieutenant?" Margaret was beginning to get agitated. Olive took a backwards step towards the officer's club and the sloppy piano.

"No, I've—"

"And how many of them do you think have wives? Even if they tell you they don't, you know, they probably do, maybe even in another unit somewhere! And why do they do it?"

"Because they're pigs, ma'am?" Olive offered cautiously after Margaret stood for a moment staring at her expectantly.

"Swine! Every last one of them. How long've you been here?"

"A little over three months, ma'am."

"That's plenty of time for you to break up, I dunno, prob'ly five happy families. And you'd never know the difference, that's how naïve you are."

"I'm sorry Major?" Another step towards the officer's club.

"And there's so many of you, you perky little girls with your pure hearts and your cute figures and your pouty faces. You make me sick."

"I'm sorry Major."

"You really do. Oh," she groaned, her eyes glassing over a split second before she dashed away towards the latrines.

Olive darted in the other direction and slipped into the officer's club with a sigh of relief. It was warm inside, and the piano had stopped. Vanderslice was at the bar chatting with Nurse Banhardt and he gave Olive a thumbs up when he saw her. She gave him a weak wave and sat at the piano to keep him from doing so. She wasn't in the mood for another version of "Olive of My Eye."

She hadn't played in ages. Not since coming to Korea, at the very least, and it seemed like she'd been there for five years. All the little things like arpeggios and F sharp minor and the Minuet that lived in the real world seemed so very far from her sub-zero hell filled with ruptured arteries and cauterized limbs and drunken, delusional majors. But she placed her fingers on the keys anyway and was surprised that her hands remembered pieces of music that her mind had long forgotten. She only managed to get halfway through "Fur Elise" before her fingers stumbled over themselves and she lost the melody, but "Magnetic Rag" practically spilled out of her. Funny how the things she was taught in her endless years of piano lessons were reluctant to come, but the songs she learned from her father were so easy.

She was halfway through "The Entertainer" when she realized Father Mulcahy was leaning against the piano. "Hi Father," she smiled, watching her fingers as they moved to a higher octave.

"I didn't know you played," he mused.

"I don't normally. But I thought we should all be saved from another of Vanderslice's pieces."

"I thank you for that."

She finished the song with a little flourish of the hand and smiled up at the chaplain. "You're a fan of Joplin, aren't you?"

"Oh yes, very much so."

"Thought so. You played 'Maple Leaf Rag' in here a few weeks ago."

"One of my favorites. I don't know many song. Well, I know a few hymns, but they're a bit…dreary."

"And the people around here aren't fans of drear, I've been told. Ragtime is probably more easily accepted."

"Not my ragtime," he smiled.

"Oh, but I like yours," she countered. "Why don't you play something for us? I'm about to run out of Joplin, I'll be forced to pull out my Bach soon, and that's not exactly chipper either."

"I would, but I should be heading back to my tent – I've got a service in the morning."

"Oh, right. I forgot."

"You're welcome to come, my child," he said with just a hint of admonishment.

"Oh, I know, thank you, but I'm not, y'know, really into the whole 'service' thing. No offense, sorry," she added, looking up at him almost guiltily.

"You're forgiven," he said, placing a warm hand on her shoulder. "If you ever change your mind, you know where to find me." She nodded. It was almost impossible not to smile at him; he was the one stalwart beam of optimism and humanity that never seemed to falter, and she adored him for it.

"I know."

"Good night then. I'll see you around."

"Night Father."

He stepped outside and the door closed softly, letting in a gust of frigid air. Olive took off her scarf, cocked her head at the piano keys and tried to run through "Bethena."

* * *

BJ took the seat at the bar that Vanderslice had vacated after having struck out with Nurse Banhardt. "New hat, Klinger?" he asked the acting barman.

"No, new feathers in last season's model. You like?" Klinger asked as he paused to model said hat. Radar, sitting next to BJ, looked up, vaguely curious.

"It's lovely," BJ grinned.

"Thanks. I work with what I got." He placed a glass on the bar and held up a bottle. "Usual?"

"Fill 'er up," BJ agreed. "And another grape knee high for my friend here," he perked, clapping Radar on the shoulder. "Unless you're in the mood for something a little stronger?"

"I'm fine, sir," he said softly, and his eyes wandered away again.

BJ and Klinger shared a look and zeroed in on Radar. "He's pining," Klinger announced.

"Besotted," BJ agreed.

"Smitten."

"In love."

"I am not," Radar argued half-heartedly.

Klinger and BJ shared another look and followed Radar's gaze towards the door. "It's either Olive at the piano or Private Reginald at pinball," Klinger said.

"Gonna bag yourself a doctor, eh Radar? He'd be a great catch to take home to mother," BJ teased.

"Leave me alone, guys," he grumbled. All three turned towards the piano as Olive lost the melody and hit a hard E minor chord in frustration.

"Stop admiring her from afar and just go over there and talk to her," Klinger urged.

"What would I say?"

"Whatever you usually do. You two talk all the time, I've seen you."

"That's different."

"How?" BJ asked.

Radar glanced around the room at the couples whispering into each other's ears, dancing in the corner to some music other than what Olive was playing. "Just is." He gave a shrug.

"All you have to do is ask her if she'd like to go out sometime," Klinger prompted.

"What, on a date? I wouldn't know what to do!"

"Sure you would. You've been on dates before. You could take her to Rosie's, or to a movie, or on a picnic—"

"Sure, we've got the supplies to treat hypothermia," BJ agreed.

"No picnics then," Klinger amended.

"Gee I dunno, what if she says no?"

"She won't," BJ said sincerely. "I promise."

"How do you know?"

"Radar, everyone in the whole camp knows about you and Olive."

"What do they know about us?"

"That you're crazy about each other."

"Really?" Radar gasped. Klinger nodded.

"Go over there, soldier," BJ demanded as Olive began picking out Heart and Soul. "She's playing the mating call of the pianist."

"Sir!"

"Pianist Radar, Pi-an-ist. Forget it, just go." BJ gave Radar a little push and he slid to his feet.

"Here, take this," Klinger added, handing him a grape knee high with a straw. "For the lady."

"Oh," he nodded, and hesitantly shuffled over to the piano, purple bottle in hand.

"Hi, Radar," she perked as she looked up at him. "You know the other half?" She nodded towards the piano, her fingers playing the lower part of the duet almost on their own.

"Uh huh," he nodded. "But I brought you a drink."

"Aww, thanks. Put it on top, I'll have it in a bit. Sit down, let's see how long we can go for."

He stepped behind her and sat next to her on the bench, his head bouncing a bit to the beat as he waited for the right note to start on. "You're pretty good," he announced after they'd gone through twice. "Playing, I mean."

"You're not half bad yourself."

Radar gave a modest laugh and concentrated on his playing. After five rounds, someone in the room yelled, "Enough already!" and they stopped abruptly.

"Spoilsport," Radar grumbled.

Olive retrieved the bottle from the top of the piano and sipped at it thoughtfully for a moment. "Major Houlihan was outside when I came in," she said.

"Yeah?"

"I'm pretty sure she was drunk."

"Wow, Major Houlihan? Really?" Radar gasped.

"Yeah. Is she married, do you know?"

"Yeah, she is. Well, sorta. He's an army major. They met here in Korea, got married not too long ago. Don't see much of each other anymore, what with the war and everything."

Olive nodded and lowered her voice. "Do you know if he's ever, y'know, had an affair?"

"That's kinda what the rumors are. I don't listen to rumours or anything, but you can't not listen to what you hear. Why?"

"Well when I saw Major Houlihan outside, she was going on and on about how she doesn't like young nurses because they break up marriages because men like them better than they like her."

"You think that's why she doesn't like you much?"

"Maybe. I don't know. Might have been the booze talking." She took another sip from her bottle. "You're not married, are you Radar?" she asked with a grin.

"Me? Oh, heck no. I don't even have a sweetheart back home anymore."

"Anymore?"

"She's married now. To someone else."

"Oh Radar, that's terrible."

"Yeah. Can't really blame her though. I mean I've been here a long time, and who knows if I'll make it back."

"Of course you will," Olive gasped.

"Not everyone does you know," he said, sadness fogging his features for a moment. "Not even all the doctors."

"You'll make it home, Radar, I know you will. You're too sweet to die in this glorified mud pit. Your karma's too good."

"You think?"

"Sure. That sweetheart of yours is terrible, she was lucky to have you. If she couldn't wait for you, she didn't deserve you. I'd have waited for you 'til the end of the world. Which seems like it's closer and closer the longer we're here, doesn't it?"

"Yeah," he agreed, looking down to hide the fact he was blushing. "Do you have anyone waiting for you back home?"

"No, just Mom and Ash and my cat, Meggy."

"You have a cat? Really?"

"Yup. A tiny little kitten I adopted from the animal pound. I don't think she'll know me anymore when I get back."

"Oh, no, animals are good about that. If you love them, they'll love you, forever. Meggy'll be happy to see you when you get back."

"Yeah," she said, sounding a bit distant and chewing on her straw thoughtfully.

"So, uh, next week's movie's gonna be Son of Godzilla."

"Yeah? I didn't know he even had a girl?"

"Oh sure, we got that one in a few months ago. They trampled all over a city together, it was kinda romantic."

"Just goes to show there's someone out there for everybody, doesn't it?"

Radar nodded. "You going with anybody? To the movie, I mean."

"Me? No. No one's asked me."

"Would you like to maybe go with me? You don't have to if you don't wanna, I just thought it might be nice, and maybe after we could go to Rosie's or maybe play some pinball, or not, whatever you want to." Radar blurted it all out at once, and only stopped speaking because he'd run out of breath.

"I'd like that," she smiled.

"Yeah?" He sounded stunned.

"Yeah."

"Oh boy, gee whiz," he chirped, and Olive giggled at him. "So, I'll meet you at your tent around seven?"

"Sounds perfect."

"Yeah," he said. They grinned at each other for a moment, until each realized they didn't have anything else to say. Even if they did have anything to say, they were too busy blushing to do much else. Olive took a sip of her drink. "I'll see you then I guess."

"Or just around."

"Yeah, that too."

"Um, it's getting late."

"Yeah."

"I should get to sleep, I get the feeling Major Houlihan's not going to be in a very good mood in the morning, and I've got Post Op duty, I don't think I could afford to oversleep."

"Oh, right. I'll, I'll walk you to your tent then."

"Thanks." She wrapped her scarf around her neck and finished her knee high as Radar pulled on his coat. He waved goodbye to BJ, who gave them a thumbs up. Olive smiled at him curiously as Radar guided her out the door with a hand on her back, and they walked in silence, shoulders hunched and hands deep in their pockets, trying to ward off the cold. They didn't say much; it was too cold to talk. Olive was happy to see light emanating from the Swamp, so hopefully Hawkeye had vacated her tent, which was dark when they arrived.

"Here we are," he announced, "home sweet home."

"Thanks." She shrugged. "I'm really looking forward to the movie."

"Me too. Can't go wrong with a Godzilla flick, they're always pretty good. Oh," he gasped, "and us, I mean you and me and you. It'll be, well, I'm looking real forward to it too."

Olive decided he was cute when he blushed. It was quite an accomplishment, really, that his blood could even circulate that well in the blistering cold. "Thanks for the drink."

"It was nothing," he said, dropping his eyes and blushing even more.

He flinched when she reached out and put her hands on his shoulder and dropped a quick kiss on his right cheek. "Night, Radar," she peeped, and disappeared into her tent before he even noticed that the warm feeling her lips had left on his cheek was spreading down his spine.

"Good night," he called into the tent as he raised a hand to his cheek and headed to his office, unable to suppress his dopey smile.


	8. Chapter 8

Author's note: So I'm fairly sure no one cares about this story anymore, seeing as it's been two, three, fifteen years since I updated it. That's what work/school/dating/a very demanding kitten/disappointing baseball seasons/interior decorating/having to give your MASH DVDs back to your mother will do to a girl. I got stuck on this chapter, so it kinda sucks. Sorry about all that.

Radar jumped when Godzilla let out a fearsome growl – not because of the noise of the monster, but because Olive had flinched and grabbed hold of his arm. He glanced down at her to see her burying her face in his shoulder, then looked up, not sure what to do but listen to the blood pounding through his ears.

BJ, sitting two rows ahead, caught his eye. He pointedly put his arm around Hawkeye's shoulder, nodding at Olive. Radar mimicked him, carefully putting an arm across Olive's back, holding her close as she looked up at the screen just long enough to see the giant lizard still terrorizing the city before burying her face in Radar's sleeve again. BJ gave him a thumbs up as Hawkeye snuggled into his pseudo-embrace.

BJ gave Hawkeye a shove, and he sat up reluctantly. "I'd forgotten how cute puppy love really is," BJ grinned.

"You know he even shaved for tonight," Hawkeye grinned. "There wasn't a single hair on his face, but he went through an awful lot of Charles's shaving foam."

"Charles's?"

"Olive deserves the best, don't you think?"

"He use Charles's aftershave too?"

"No. Yours."

"Only the best for Olive, right?"

"You bet."

"Don't you have anything good?"

"Sure," Hawkeye said as proudly as his whispered tone would allow, "I gave him my advice!"

"Oh no," BJ groaned. "What did you tell him?"

"Open doors for the lady. Walk between her and the road. Compliment her outfit. And always use protection."

"You didn't."

"I did. There isn't a word for the shade of red Radar's face went when I handed them to him."

BJ paused for a moment. "You don't think they would, do you?"

"Olive once told me she's a fan of nudity," Hawkeye shrugged.

"I don't believe that. I don't think Olive has ever been nude in her life."

"You only say that because you're a married man with scruples and morals and decency."

Potter leaned over to shush them harshly. BJ shrugged sheepishly, and Hawkeye stuck his tongue out the minute the colonel's back was turned. Hawkeye looked up at the movie long enough to realize that he was not only bored by it, but out of popcorn as well. He turned back to glance at Radar and Olive – she was still leaning cautiously against his left shoulder, their fingers intertwined on the bench between them, even though the monster was nowhere to be seen. While Olive seemed to be okay with this, Radar had blanched to a ghostly white as he looked at her out of the corner of his eye, ignoring the movie completely.

When the projector bulb blinked out and thrust the room instantly into blackness, a unanimous cry went up from the entire camp, directed mainly at makeshift projectionist Klinger, who was yelling over the sound of chattering Japanese actors and the humming of the projector for someone to turn on the lights. When the lights did come on, Klinger was using his satin gloves to take out the projector bulb. "Bulb's dead," he announced after a quick shake, and suddenly the crowd was yelling for Radar.

Once he realized that the attention of the room had shifted to him, he hurriedly let go of Olive's hand and took three steps, scurrying out of the tent, before backtracking and apologizing to Olive. "I'll have to go to the supply tent, I'll be back in a minute," he said before pushing his way out of the mess tent-come-movie theatre.

His keys clattered to the floor as he fidgeted with the lock to the supply tent, and his fingers fumbled through the boxes of light bulbs as he struggled to find the one small box of projector bulbs. He didn't want to be there in the quiet, cold tent while Olive waited for him, but he didn't want to go back either. He was actually on a date with her, and while he was certain he was supposed to be happy, he was afraid he was messing things up. Badly. He'd forgotten her gift. He'd also forgotten to compliment her outfit like Hawkeye had said. The handful of…protection…that Hawkeye had given him was making him nervous on top of his nervousness – it was like they were burning a hole in his pocket. He had no idea what he was doing.

He found the box of bulbs, small and crystal clear, and pulled one out. Just as he was closing the lid, he reached into his pocket and filled the box with Hawkeye's small foil squares. He hesitated a moment, considering taking one with him, just…to see how it worked, exactly, but he could feel himself blushing, and hurriedly closed the box, pushing it to the back of the shelf behind the boxes of big OR lamp bulbs, and scurried out of the tent. He dashed into his tent quickly, came out cramming a package into his coat, and ran to the mess tent where people were chattering animatedly.

A cheer went up as he pushed his way up the aisle, past Rizzo who was passing out popcorn. He gave the bulb to Klinger, who gave a mumbled thanks. Olive was talking with Kelley, who was sitting on the other side of the gap he'd left on the bench. He couldn't hear what they were saying, but he was pretty sure they were talking about him. Or maybe that was just his nerves again.

He touched Olive's shoulder, and she looked up, surprise softening to a smile as she stood up to let him sit. But Major Houlihan had seen her, and she was marching over from the other side of the tent. Radar grabbed Olive's hand, stopping her from sitting down, but released her again as soon as the major neared.

"Nurse Grey," Margaret scorned, "I thought you were working in post op?"

"No ma'am, that was yesterday." Olive looked her firmly in the eyes. Radar looked back and forth between the two of them. "I have tonight off."

"I'm almost certain you were scheduled tonight too." Margaret's eyes narrowed

"No ma'am," Radar chirped, "I typed up the nurses' duty roster for you." He grabbed for his ever-present clipboard under his seat. "You signed it right here, with your very own signature."

Major Houlihan scowled first at Olive, then at Radar, then at Nurse Kelley for no real reason, then back at Olive again. The projector clicked on, the quickening hum drowned out by yet another cheer from the audience. The major turned to the screen just as the lights turned out, and when she looked back at Olive and Radar, they'd managed to sit down, each with a handful of stale but warm popcorn. "Well," she huffed, turning on her heel. Olive and Radar stifled their snickers with popcorn as Major Houlihan hissed at the complaints she received as her silhouette stepped awkwardly through the screen, trying to reclaim her seat.

* * *

"Hey Rosie," Hawkeye grinned as he at BJ sat at a table. "Good crowd tonight."

"Ha, ha," she snarked, wandering through the mostly-empty tables to drop two bottles of beer on the table. "If you're here to drink, okay. If you're here to joke, I'll close out your tab."

"What joking? I didn't hear a joke, did you hear a joke Beej?"

"No," he said solemnly.

"No one funny here."

"Yeah, no kidding," Rosie grumbled, rolling her eyes.

"Hey, was that a joke?" Hawkeye gasped, pointing at her accusingly.

"Actually, we're here to spy," BJ said, deciding to steer the conversation to something resembling sanity.

"Spy?" Rosie scorned.

"Is Radar here?" BJ asked.

"In the back having dinner with a girl in a pink sweater. I never seen her ­– she new?"

"That's Olive," Hawkeye grinned, "she's not too new, just quiet. Tonight's their first date."

"Radar dates?" Rosie gasped, clearly horrified.

"Only when it's Olive, and even then, just barely," Hawkeye shrugged. "We're chaperoning."

"How are they doing?" BJ asked.

"Dunno," she shrugged. "I gave them food, now I wait to be paid."

"And yet still your establishment is empty," BJ chuckled. "How can everyone resist your service and charm?"

"Could you check on 'em for us?" Hawkeye asked. Rosie stared at them. "A round of grape kneehighs, on us."

"On your tab, you mean," Rosie grumbled, but still she went, stopping at the bar to grab two purple bottles before disappearing behind the curtain.

Hawkeye and BJ took swigs from their bottles, waiting. "Too bad Klinger's wedding dress won't fit Liv," Hawkeye mused after a moment.

"No, if they get married, it'll have to be back in the states, on the family farm in Iowa."

"Uncle Ed as the best man."

"Pig as the ring bearer," BJ giggled.

"She'd throw the bouquet to a herd of sheep," Hawkeye cackled.

"No, goats – they'd eat it."

They dissolved into laughter, imagining the farm wedding until Rosie skulked in. "I'm not going back in there," she frowned.

"Why, what's wrong?" Hawkeye asked.

"They're, they're cute," she cringed. "Talking about going home and eating hot dogs and going to ball games and kittens and, ugh. I was okay with the grape kneehighs, but this is not alright."

* * *

Radar had cleaned his plate of all but the kimchi, and Olive was picking at the last of her potato noodles with chopsticks, just to have something to do as they talked. Which they'd been doing for quite some time, about everything that wasn't Korea. It wasn't until she tried to hide a yawn that Radar looked at his watch and realized they'd been there for almost three hours. They'd headed home reluctantly, but not before Radar had awkwardly helped Olive with her coat, an ordeal that had caused her to spin in three circles and get one sleeve inside out the first two tries.

They waved goodbye to Hawkeye and BJ, who were in fits of drunken giggles as they left, and laughed about them all the way to Olive's tent. The lights were off inside, so they stood away from the door to say their goodnights.

"Thank you very much, Radar, for the lovely evening. I'm really glad we got the chance to do this."

"Me too. We can do it again sometime soon, right? I mean there's not a lot to do here, but I'm sure we can think of something, if you want to."

"I'd love that. But I guess now it's probably time to call it a night—"

"Wait, before that, I have something for you. A present."

"Oh, Radar, you didn't have to," she cooed.

He pulled a small package from his jacket. It had obviously been rewrapped, and was tied up with twine. "Open it," he smiled as he handed it to her.

She cautiously tore off the brown wrapping paper – it was what it had been sent with, turned inside-out. The box smelled wonderful, and she hurriedly opened the flap, and moved the waxed paper aside. "Cookies?" she asked, looking up.

"Yeah. Chocolate chip and walnuts. The kind that fix most every problem. I asked my ma to send 'em."

"Oh Radar," she grinned, "thank you. And thank your mother. These are amazing."

"They got kinda crushed in the mail, but they still taste pretty good. Even the crumbs. Try one."

She opened the box and pulled out half a cookie, smiling at Radar as she took a bite. "Wow. That is a great cookie. Here, have one."

He took a cookie gratefully but didn't eat it, but watched as Olive finished hers. "Does it help your problems?"

"Yeah, I'm feeling pretty good right now," she smiled. "Thanks, Radar." The box of miracle cookies pressed to her chest, she squeezed his hand with her free hand, and gave him a kiss, much like the last time he'd walked her to her tent, but this time square on the lips.

"Thank you," he breathed. "I mean, goodnight? I'll see you tomorrow."

"Breakfast," Olive nodded. "Thanks again. Goodnight."

"Goodnight," he grinned goofily.

"Radar?"

"Huh?"

"You'll have to let go of my hand. Or come in with me. But I don't know if there's enough room for me, Bear and you on my cot."

"Oh, right, yeah, sorry, I'll go, sorry, thank you, goodnight, sorry, bye," Radar babbled. Olive smiled, said another quick goodnight and headed inside. He waited until her door was closed before turning to return to his tent, taking small bites of his cookie and grinning stupidly at the night guards he passed.


	9. Chapter 9

"Not in his office, not in the mess tent, not in Olive's tent—"

"Or in the supply tent with Olive," Hawkeye smirked.

"Not in the larine."

"Or the showers."

"We didn't check the showers," BJ said, confused.

"When's the last time you saw Radar in the showers," Hawkeye countered.

"In the showers, no. Outside looking in at nurses, yes."

"We didn't check outside the showers," Hawkeye said, changing his course. They squinted against the sun which, for the first time since winter had descended what felt like a millennium ago, was warm and bright and welcoming.

"Maybe he's hiding from us," BJ mused.

"Hiding? From us? He's like our puppy, he wouldn't know how."

"I think you'll find he's Liv's puppy these days."

Hawkeye pondered for a moment as BJ gestured towards the side of Potter's office, where Radar kept his animal cages. "And she would mess with us. She knows we can't golf without our faithful caddie."

They rounded the corner. "I don't think Liv is concerned with our golf game," BJ said quietly. They stopped, dumbfounded, trying not to giggle at the sight of Olive and Radar sharing kisses as Babette the guinea pig happily munched on a new carrot. They were on the other side of the cages, but even through the two layers of metal mesh, it was obvious that their relationship was progressing past puppy love into something a little more intense. It was both utterly adorable and vaguely disturbing.

"Either of you guys seen Liv?"

Hawkeye and BJ turned and shushed Klinger harshly, but the harm was done. When the three of them turned back towards Babsy's cage, Olive was awkwardly trying to undo the damage that Radar's fingers had done to her hair while Radar was attempting to straighten his cap and fidget with the door to a cage at the same time.

"Ohhh," Klinger said slowly, a smile growing across his face.

"Hi, sirs," Radar chirped as he came around to the other side of the cages, blushing furiously.

"Hey Liv, Major Houlihan wants you in Post Op," Klinger chirped, not even trying to hide his grin.

"Thanks," she murmured, head down and smile nervous as she scurried off with a hurried, "Bye guys." Klinger followed a few paces behind.

"So we're looking for a caddie, if you're interested," BJ said hopefully as he raised his clubs.

"Oh sure," Radar smiled, sticking his hands in his pockets.

"So," Hawkeye said as they headed up the hill towards their golf course. "You and Liv, huh? Seems to be going well."

"Oh yeah, swell. Actually I was hoping to talk to you fellas."

"Sure, what's on your mind?"

"Well, I was kinda hoping that Liv and me, we could, y'know," he looked over his shoulder, judging whether they were far enough from camp, and continued in a whisper, "_y'know_." He looked at them pointedly.

"He's ready to _y'know_," Hawkeye whispered solemnly. BJ nodded. "Is Olive ready to _y'know_?"

"Well I wanna make sure I know how before I ask her, just in case she says yeah."

"So that's what you need to talk about?" BJ asked. Radar nodded.

"When a man and a woman love each other very much," Hawkeye began.

"Actually, Hawkeye, I really think I want BJ's opinion on this."

"Wait, BJ? Why him?"

"Yeah, why me?"

"Well, Hawkeye, you've already told me about," he dropped his voice, "the birds and the bees." He coughed a moment then continued. "And I mean, I know that you're really good at ladies and stuff. I mean, really good. But BJ, he's really good at one lady, his wife. And that's what I'd like to be."

"Oh, Radar," BJ cooed, trying not to laugh, "that's so sweet!"

"Sweet," Hawkeye sneered, dropping his bag of clubs at the first tee.

"Well, could you help me?" Radar asked as he reached into Hawkeye's bag for a ball and a tee.

"You seem to be doing pretty well for yourself, buddy."

"Yeah?"

"Well sure. We've seen you two together, and you're always talking and holding hands and touching and, well, I think you two even made your guinea pig blush back there. You obviously care for each other, and that's what's important."

"Really?"

"Really," BJ and Hawkeye said at the same time. Hawkeye was taking a few practice swings as he tried to remember where exactly the first hole was.

"Oh, and don't worry, Hawkeye, I've still got all the protection you gave me."

There was a whoosh and a crack as Hawkeye, caught off guard by Radar's statement, missed the ball entirely and his himself in the shoulder. BJ doubled over laughing as Hawkeye rubbed his arm and Radar tried to find a different club in Hawkeye's bag.

* * *

Hawkeye flumped into the first stool at the bar, ordered a drink, and decided to pout. Sent all the way to Seoul for a damn medical conference in the middle of a storm on the slowest airplane known to mankind, only to arrive with no time to enjoy himself and no one to enjoy. "It's days like these I really hate this war," he grumbled to no one in particular as rainwater dripped off his hair, down his nose, and onto the bar.

The barman placed a glass in front of him. It was amber and warm and had probably not been filtered through jockey shorts and surgical tubing. Things were finally beginning to look up a bit.

He looked up from his scotch and found a slight, curly-haired captain settling into the barstool next to him. He looked vaguely familiar, but couldn't for the life of him place the face. "Have we met?"

"No, but I've heard some amazing things about you from my sister."

"We were drunk at the time," Hawkeye smirked. "Alcohol makes me limber."

"No," the stranger chuckled, "I'm Tim Grey, you probably know my sister as Liv."

"Oh yeah," Hawkeye perked. "Sweet kid, one hell of a nurse."

"Thanks, I taught her everything she knows."

"In that case, I should buy you a drink. What'll it be?"

"No thanks, I'm fine."

"A whole family of teetotalers, huh? I'll never know how you people stay sane in a war like this."

"We come from an odd pool of genes where the booze causes more insanity than it cures."

"Can't argue with genetics," Hawkeye shrugged. "I mean look at you, you look just like Olive, I don't know why I didn't see it sooner."

"She wears it better than I do," Tim smirked.

"I wasn't gonna mention it," Hawkeye smirked.

"Speaking of Liv. I hope it's not too rude of me, but ever since I heard you were here I've been looking for you, I was hoping we could talk about her?"

"Oh sure, I'm always up for a good gossip."

"Is she doing okay? I mean really?"

"She's doing as well as anyone can expect anyone to do in an upholstered toilet like our compound. Saves lives anywhere from four to 36 hours a day, in her spare time she plays shortstop on my baseball team, sketches the camp and makes it look almost habitable, and hides from Major Houlihan."

"She's rough, isn't she? Half of Liv's letters are complaints about that Major."

"She's not all bad. She's part rotten too. Great nurse, but a real stickler for army rules. She's in the middle of divorcing her mail order husband for mailing himself to other nurses, so she's been real snippy at all our young pretty girls. Under all that pancake powder she's green, haven't figured out if it's because she's so regular army or if it's the jealousy that's eating her away. Nothing to worry too much about, Liv's good at keeping out of the way, and our CO's real good at making sure Hot Lips Houlihan doesn't make too big a fuss out of anything."

"That's encouraging," Tim nodded. "And what about this Radar fellow she seems to be going with?"

"Radar? He's the best man in our camp, both the little brother and the pet I never had. Sweet dimpled kid from a farm in Iowa, maybe not the brightest guy as far as book smarts go, but he practically runs the 4077 and he can nice the pants off you."

"Which I imagine he's done to Olive."

"Oh, it's not like that, I promise. I mean yeah, they've been known to sneak into the VIP tent for a little VIPing, but she's the first girl at the camp he's ever gotten to second base with. To tell you the truth, I really think they're in love."

"In love? Really?"

"Really. Nothing carnal about either one of them. They're two scared kids who shouldn't even have their training wheels off their bikes, but here they are knee deep in other people's organs, and they've found each other and they're making this all bearable, at least a little bit."

"Imagine that, finding love in a swamp like this."

"Those kids deserve it."

"They don't deserve to be here," Tim sighed.

"You sure I can't buy you a drink?" Hawkeye asked. "I know I sure as hell need one."

"The conference starts in ten minutes," Tim said, glancing at his watch.

"You mean you actually plan on going?" Hawkeye gasped.

"Well, yes? Aren't you?"

"Not if I can avoid it."

"Aren't you giving a lecture?"

"Am I? I haven't written one."

Tim rolled his eyes. "I think we should get going."

"You Greys are all the same, so by the book, so efficient, so…nice."

"It's why you love us."

"No. Olive I love, because she's cute. You, you're going to take some getting used to."

"I don't know what Liv sees in you," Tim laughed as he pushed Hawkeye off his stool. "Come on, up and at 'em."

"Yes mother," Hawkeye grumbled, allowing himself to be dragged off by the wrist.

* * *

Olive reached for the shelf behind the bed and grabbed a pair of glasses. She held them up and squinted one eye closed as she looked through them. "Yours," she said, putting them on his chest and slipping on the other pair. "We should probably head back."

"Do we have to?"

"Well it's dinner time, people are bound to notice if you're not around," she smirked as she slipped out from under the blanket. "Who will Hawkeye tease?"

"Yeah, I guess." She was trying to be modest, keeping her back to him as she slipped into her underclothes even though he'd just seen and touched and kissed most of her naked front. But he didn't mind, he liked watching the shoulder blades move under her skin anyway. And then she was on the floor, gathering up the rest of their clothes. She dropped a wad of green fatigues next to him on the bed and pulled her shirt over her shoulders lazily as she sat on her heels.

"I'll go out first and meet you at mess in a few minutes, yeah?"

"Save me a spot."

"Of course." She raised up, elbows on the bed, and gave him a goodbye kiss.

Neither of them heard the door open, and they froze when the horrified voice rang out: "What's going on in here?!"

Olive realized that she was kneeling over the bed, her rear end sticking in the air with nothing but pink panties between it and Major Houlihan. She jumped up, clutching her unbuttoned shirt around her chest with one hand and saluting with the other, not sure what to do in such a situation.

"Nurse Grey!" Margaret barked. She was practically dripping in venom as she turned her gaze quickly to the form in the bed, and her eyes grew wide in horror as she realized it was Radar, blanket held up to his neck and eyes lingering on the back of Olive's knees.

"Major," Olive peeped.

"Really Lieutenant! And with an enlisted man. With, with Radar!"

"Sorry ma'am," Radar said as he moved to sit up.

"What have you two got to say for yourselves?"

"Um, I'm not sure, ma'am, it's hard to think without my pants on?" Olive said uncertainly.

"Corporal O'Reilly, what have I told you about…busying yourself with my nurses?"

"Colonel Blake said I could fraternize with whoever wanted to fraternize with me, regardless of rank, gender or sex."

"Well we'll just have to see what Colonel Potter has to say about this. Come with me."

"But Major—" Olive argued. But Margaret was already storming out of the tent towards the Colonel's office. Olive grabbed her trousers and slipped into her sandals, buttoning her shirt haphazardly as she hurried to catch up with the major; Radar followed cautiously, cocooned in the blanket.

"You should see this one, there's these girls doing nude skeet-shooting, it's the most amazing thing I've ever seen," Hawkeye was saying, his eyes glazing over as he thought back to his latest crop of nudists magazines he'd found waiting for him back in his tent when he'd returned from his conference.

"Oh yeah?" BJ countered. "Look behind you."

Hawkeye did so and let out one of his trademark cackling laughs as he watched Margaret march towards the colonel's tent with a pantsless Olive and blanket-clad Radar trailing behind.

"Colonel Potter," Margaret snapped as she stormed into the colonel's office. "Just look at what I found."

The colonel looked up. "I don't have time for guessing games, Major," he sighed.

Margaret turned around to find she'd lost Olive and Radar. Fuming, she pushed open the door to find Olive sitting on Radar's cot, pulling on her pants, and Radar, blanket still wrapped tightly around himself, rummaging through his things to try to find some clothes to throw on. He'd only managed to pull on his hat, which didn't quite hide his rumpled hair. "In here now," Margaret cried. They reluctantly stepped into the colonel's office, eyes fixed on the floor. "Just look at these two!"

Potter chuckled softly at Olive with her shirt buttoned wrong and blushing furiously behind her mussed hair, and outright laughed at Radar cowering under a moth-eaten blanket, the bill of his wool hat hiding his face.

"I found them in the VIP tent," Margaret snapped. "Cavorting!"

"They aren't the only ones that cavort around here."

"But sir! A lieutenant and a corporal! It's against army regulations for enlisted men to commingle with officers."

"Major, how many times do I need to tell you, this is not a military base, it's a hospital. It's my hospital. And if officers want to commingle with enlisted men, that's fine by me. Olive, do you want to commingle with Radar?"

She looked up harshly, not expecting to hear such a question directed at her. "Um, yes sir."

"Radar, have you taken into consideration the training films and the lectures on VD?"

"Oh, yes sir," he nodded, "Hawkeye even gave me a bunch of—"

"But Colonel!" Margaret whined.

"Let the kids have their fun. If this sort of thing is going to happen, and we both know that it is, I'd rather it happen here than out in the villages with the professionals."

"Sir—"

"What's it hurting, Major?"

"But in the VIP tent?"

He turned to the two still-blushing lovers. "You two do darn good work here, and I don't give a bumblebee's behind what you do when you're not on the job. Just please, lock the door next time, so we can avoid this sort of melodrama?"

"But Colonel, generals have slept in that bed!"

"You're right," Colonel Potter agreed. "Radar, flip the mattress. Oh, and, uh, keep the blanket."

"Thank you, sir."

"Colonel?"

"Yes, Olive."

"Can I go, um, get dressed for dinner?"

"Dismissed, all of you."

"Colonel!"

"All of you, Major."

"Yes sir," she grumbled, and pushed her way out of the office. Colonel Potter smirked to himself and shook his head as he heard Margaret snapping at poor, traumatized Radar as he tried to dress himself.


	10. Chapter 10

The late morning sun was streaming across her legs as she woke up, and she was hot and sweating and she knew she hadn't gotten enough sleep after working the late shift in Post Op. Olive was about to kick off her blanket and go back to sleep when she got round to noticing the voice coming through the PA. "…all personnel report to the admitting ward and helo pad."

She slipped out of bed with more energy than she was convinced she had and hurriedly pulled on a pair of pants and stepped into her boots, only bothering to pull the laces tight but not to tie them. Pulling on a shirt over the tee she'd worn to bed, she buttoned it as she trudged blearily towards the incoming wounded.

As she passed the Swamp, BJ stumbled out, blinking at the brightness of the sun and looking just as enthusiastic as she felt, not surprising considering he'd worked the same shift she had. "Liv, you come with me, the chopper blades'll wake us up."

"I'd rather a decapitation than a wake up call," she grumbled, but followed him anyway as he broke into a jog. As they hurried up the steps, she could just make out the distinct forms of Radar and Klinger in the ambulance that was already on its way down the hill. Hawkeye was hovering over a patient who'd just been unloaded from one helicopter, and BJ made a b-line for a second helicopter that was preparing to land amongst a throng of orderlies ready to move bodies.

"What've you got, Hawk?" he called, fighting to be heard over the roar of turbulent air and churning motors.

"Chest wound and a kid with a rump full of an ex-grenade just went down, and I've got a blasted leg here." He turned to one of his attending nurses and rattled off instructions.

The second chopper settled and three men lifted a litter to the ground as a group of nurses and Potter scurried up the steps. BJ examined the first patient while Olive helped ease the second down. The soldier was blinking furiously against the sun and turned his face away from the light, towards Olive as she reached for his tags. Private Penny. Her eyes snapped to his face in surprise. His hair was red under his helmet, his face freckled and peeling from sunburn. He couldn't have been more than twenty, but here he was, fatigues spattered with blood, probably not all of it his own, a hasty bandage pressed into his hip and clutching what was probably a broken arm to his chest. There was no way he couldn't be Red's brother.

"What's a pretty girl like you doing in a war like this?" he said, trying to hide his wince of pain behind a weak smile.

"Beats the hell outta me," she said, mirroring his smile as she put two fingers under his jaw to take his pulse. She heard BJ shouting orders to Lydia as the other stretcher was being taken away towards a waiting jeep. "What's a handsome young soldier like you doing at a hospital like this?" She got her answer when she lifted the bandage – a barrage of bullets had been fired into his leg.

"Ask Eisenhower," he grumbled.

"What've we got, Liv?" BJ demanded as he came around the other side and began prodding the soldier's arm. His hissed in protest.

"Multiple bullet wounds in the right hip, heavy bleeding, might have hit an artery, doctor. Normal heart rate, lucid enough to be cute."

"Fractured ulna," BJ added. "You take him down, give him a fresh bandage and prep him for round two. Then scrub up and help me with that bowel resection. I know they're your favorite."

"Thanks, doc," she scowled. He gave her half a smile before whistling to two orderlies who snatched up the stretcher and trotted towards the jeep, Olive following closely.

"Can you wait for us to load another one?" one of the orderlies asked, and she nodded. They dashed off towards Hawkeye's newest patient and she looked down at the man sprawled across the rear end of the jeep.

"Do you have a brother who went home about six months ago with a busted eye?" She couldn't help but ask.

"Yeah. Was he here?"

"Yup. Treated him myself. Great guy."

"Can you send me home too?" He looked up at her with eyes so pained she could hardly stand it. He'd been fighting too long; he didn't care about his leg or his arm, he just wanted out. She didn't blame him.

"We're going to do the best we can do for you," Olive assured the patient as she rested a hand on his shoulder, "you're in the best of hands here."

"Thanks," he murmured, closing his eyes. There was a strange noise of metal hitting metal just audible over the sound of the helicopters. She turned towards the noise and watched as the last helicopter took off. There was another noise, much closer, and she could have sworn it was the sound of a bullet hitting the jeep. "What the hell," the soldier cursed, lifting his head to look around.

There was another sound, this one definitely a gun shot, and an orderly dropped the back half of a litter as he fell to the ground, gripping his shin.

Two or three people screamed out "Sniper!" and personnel rushed down the hill in all directions. BJ called for a litter for the fallen orderly as he ripped open the leg of his pants to inspect the wound, and Hawkeye grabbed the end of the dropped stretcher and helped hurry the patient onto Olive's jeep.

"Go, go," he yelled at the driver, and the jeep and its surrounding cloud of attendants began trundling down. There were three more shots in rapid succession, but Olive didn't know where or what they hit.

"Is this normal?" the soldier asked frantically.

"No, it's against the Geneva Convention to fire on a hospital, for god's sake," she gasped, and then she was on the ground and screaming before she even heard the next shots.

The jeep stopped and Hawkeye looked up from where he was helping BJ get the orderly onto the last jeep. He ran to where Olive was curled in a ball and gritting her teeth as she clutched her left shoulder with her right hand as it oozed blood. "Go," he shouted at the jeep driver. "We need another litter over here!"

Two more shots that didn't seem to connect with anything but dirt. Olive found herself being hoisted onto a stretcher by three pairs of hands, but couldn't think over the throb of pain in her shoulder that seemed to be radiating to every other atom in her body. It occurred to her that she wasn't on a jeep yet, and that someone was speaking directly over her head. She blinked her eyes open and watched through tear-blurred vision as she passed the jeep with the red-headed soldier who was saying something to BJ. She looked up and she could just make out Hawkeye's form silhouetted by the sun as he and an orderly carried her stretcher down the hill. Another shot that missed, but she flinched anyway.

"How you doing, Olive?" Hawkeye asked abruptly.

"It hurts," she whimpered.

"You're gonna be okay, kid. You and me have pulled an awful lot of bullets from an awful lot of guys, you know it'll be a cinch. I could sew you up with my eyes closed."

"Yeah," she grunted. "Piece of cake."

"We'll just get you prepped, in and out in no time."

"What, now?" she gasped.

"Well yeah, I thought so. I mean I know you missed last week's big promotion, free toaster with every bullet extraction, but we're out of toasters, weren't expecting such a rush. We won't get another shipment in for weeks. I'm sure we can work something out, though, a preferred customer discount maybe."

"Not before Red though, right?"

"What?" Hawkeye scowled.

"I promised," she murmured and squinted her eyes closed against the sun and the pain.

"We're gonna get you in just as soon as we can."

"Not before Red."

"Liv, I don't know if you've noticed or not, but you're bleeding."

"So's he. He's got more lead in him than I do. I'm better off than any of the guys who came in on the choppers."

"Hey, who's the doctor here?"

They'd reached the admitting ward, she could tell by the flurry of sound: Major Houlihan's voice barking orders, running water, the clink of glass and metal as IVs were being set up. She wondered who was taking care of Red, if he'd gotten his fresh bandage yet, if he was still in pain. The bright, humid heat of the Korean summer was replaced abruptly with the dull, humid heat of the hospital, and she was jostled a bit as her stretcher was placed on a table. She dared to open her eyes again. Hawkeye's shouted instructions blurred into all the other shouting, but the call for Radar caught her attention.

"No," she yelled back at Hawkeye, but he either didn't hear or didn't care, and she couldn't muster up much more of a protest.

"My god," Margaret gasped. "Lieutenant Grey!"

"Sorry I can't report for duty, Major," Olive said vacantly as Margaret hurriedly swabbed her arm with alcohol before sticking a syringe into her flesh.

"Don't be stupid, Olive," she snapped, dropping the spent syringe in favor of a needle to start an IV. The warm numbness of the morphine was welcomed by Olive's body. "Those filthy communists," Margaret continued. "That damned sniper, taking one of my best nurses away from me."

"You're only saying that because you know I'm dying," Olive said sleepily.

"You're not dying, Lieutenant."

"Then why'd you call me Olive? You never call me Olive. I thought you'd like my name, 'cause it's so, y'know, army. But you never use it."

"It's a nice name," Margaret agreed distractedly as she finished with the IV. "Nurse Bayliss, come over here and get some bandages on Olive, we've got to slow this bleeding before she goes into x-ray." She pulled Olive's dog tags out from under her shirt, which was buttoned wrong. "Prepare a unit of O neg for her too." Ginger scurried away and Margaret turned her attention back to Olive. "You get some rest, I'll see you in Post Op."

"Yes sir," Olive agreed groggily as she felt herself slipping into sleep.

* * *

Radar scurried through the operating room with a mask pressed haphazardly to his face, searching for Hawkeye. He found the doctor with a rib spreader thrust inside a young soldier. "You wanted to see me, Hawkeye?"

"Where have you been?!" he bellowed.

"Me, sir? I was on the phone about the sniper. They're gonna have a helicopter here within the hour."

"Great Radar, thanks, but I need you to get back on the phone, call Olive's brother Tim."

"Sir?"

"We're swamped, I don't know when we're gonna be able to get to her, I thought—"

"What do you mean, 'get to her' Hawkeye?"

"Olive was hit by the sniper, but don't worry, it's just her shoulder."

"Don't worry?!" Radar gasped as Hawkeye asked for scissors from his nurse.

"Tim's great with fixing arms," BJ supplied. "Just ask Charles, Tim's his hero. He's got photos of him on his wall at the Swamp."

"I most certainly do not," Winchester snapped.

"See if you can get Tim to get over here," Colonel Potter piped in, "otherwise Olive's gonna have to wait at least another six hours to get a table."

"Should've had a reservation," Hawkeye said.

"The quicker you get Tim, the quicker he can get to Olive," BJ announced to Radar who was staring at the table of instruments, the mask slowly falling from his face.

"Oh, right! I'll get right on it," he said, dashing out of the operating room. He pushed past a nurse carrying in a fresh supply of towels, and nearly tripped over an anesthetist in his hurry to get to a phone.

"What is wrong with the corporal?" Charles demanded as Radar pushed through the door.

"They're in love, Charles," BJ said as he directed Nurse Oxley to suction the wound. "How would you feel if the girl you loved had just been shot by a sniper?"

"In love," Charles scoffed. "Don't be ridiculous."

"It's not in his sphere of reference, Beej," Hawkeye countered, tossing a sponge into the bucket. "You have to have a heart to understand love."

* * *

"Hawkeye, Tim can't get here until morning at least, there's a big storm, no one can get out of the camp."

"Dammit," Hawkeye hissed.

"He wants to know the prog, prugno– how she's doing."

"Tell him her films look like there's a bullet near a nerve, and we're swamped, and we'll call as soon as we get her on the table so he can talk us through anything tricky."

"Right." And he was off again, but paused at the doorway. "Do you think there'll be anything tricky?"

"Probably not, Radar, but we wanna be safe."

Radar nodded and disappeared through the doors.

"You've never made such an ordeal out of any soldier's arm, Pierce," Winchester said accusingly.

"I've never operated on a soldier who's ever helped me put together a seventeen-year-old's digestive system, or a soldier who batted .270 on my baseball team, or who's ever drawn me a naked lady on the back of an overnight patient report."

"Is she the one that does those?" BJ perked.

"Great, aren't they?"

"Minored in art in college," Colonel Potter said. "Good to see she's putting her schooling to good use."

"So you see, Charles, I happen to be rather fond of Olive's arms. And as you're well aware, her brother happens to be a specialist in the area, and if we have the resource, I'm going to take advantage of it."

* * *

"Hawk, Olive's the next patient, should I try her brother again?"

"Yeah, tell him we're about to go in, and we'll let him know as soon as we find out what's going on."

"Yes sir." He scurried off into his office where he had little trouble getting hold of Dr. Grey, but that didn't stop him from tapping his pencil irritably against his clipboard until he heard Tim's voice.

"Radar, what's going on?"

"They're about ready to operate on her, they're gonna let you know as soon as they know anything 'cause they don't know nothing yet."

"Who's doing the cutting?"

"Oh, I don't know, sir."

"Get Pierce to do it if you can. Anyone but Winchester, the dolt."

"I'll do what I can, Captain."

There was a long pause. "Listen Radar, I really appreciate you being there for my little sister. I don't like her being here in the middle of the war, but knowing she's got a good man like you watching out for her, that makes it easier."

"Gee, thanks sir. We all like Olive here, and I'm real sorry about the sniper. Believe me, I wish it hadn't been her in her place, and if I coulda stopped it I woulda."

"You and me both, kid."

"Think this'll be enough for her to get to go back home?"

"Well now, that all depends on how bad it is. I kind of hope so. Does that sound bad?"

"No, I don't think so." Radar was torn between wanting her to be alright, wanting her to get the chance to get back to the world, and being afraid that she might not make it back, like Colonel Blake. "I just want her to be okay."

"She'll be okay. She's in the best hands in Korea."

"Yeah, I know." Radar perked up as he heard someone calling his name. "Hold on a sec, sir, I think they're ready for Olive. I gotta get the other phone." Before waiting for a reply he dropped the receiver and dashed into the hospital. A glance through the pre-op door showed there were only two patients left: one of the soldiers that had come in on a chopper, and the orderly who'd been shot in the shin by the sniper. That meant Olive was in the OR already. He grabbed a mask and pushed inside, where he found BJ standing over Olive, examining an x-ray as Sergeant Stiggins was putting her under. "I've got Tim on the phone," he announced. "He, uh, he said he wanted Hawkeye to operate on her."

"I won't argue with the man," BJ shrugged. "Want me to finish up for you there, Hawk?"

"Sure. New gloves and gown for me and Nervous Nelly over here," Hawkeye said as he stepped away from a bowel resection.

"Me?" Radar gasped as a nurse tied the mask at the back of his neck.

"I can't operate and hold the phone at the same time, and no one handles a phone the way you do, Radar."

"Yes sir," he agreed and dashed to the phone in the corner, much to the chagrin of the nurse trying to get a gown on him. "Captain Grey, sir?" he said into the receiver. "We're here in the OR, Captain Pierce is about to start. Captain Winchester, sir?" Radar switched the phone to his other hand as the nurse tried to coax him into a pair of gloves. "Yes, he's at the other end of the room."

"He's asking about me?" Charles asked.

"He's asking that you don't help," Radar nodded, and BJ let out a guffaw.

"Your reputation precedes you, obviously."

"Clamp," Hawkeye ordered. "And get me some suction in here, I can't see what we're dealing with."

"Oh, he started already," Radar gasped into the phone and hurried to the table, the nurse trailing along behind, still trying to get the surgical cap on him. "Here's the captain, Captain." And he held the receiver up to Hawkeye's ear.

"Hey Tim, good to talk to you again, sorry it had to be under such circumstances," Hawkeye chirped. "I know. What we've got here is two bullets in the left shoulder, entering from the anterior. One through the deltoid, near the radial nerve, out the other side, the other didn't go through, went right between the ribs and the clavicle. There's a lot of blood in here, I can't tell which is the worst. Right, start with the lodged lead. No, I don't see any arterial damage, but I haven't found the bullet yet, so there's no telling what's going on inside her. Honey, get me some suction in here, or she'll rattle when she sneezes," he said as an aside to the nurse as he bent down closer to the wound, Radar's arm following. "She's been sitting on a table for almost ten hours – and I never thought I'd say this, but this nurse's breasts are getting in my way," he announced and moved to the other side of the table, his phone caddy following faithfully. "I mean that in the best possible way, Tim. But it's been a while since I've done a real legitimate operation on a real legitimate woman, I've almost forgotten my way around. Speaking surgically, of course, not socially."

"Hawkeye," Radar grumbled.

"Long fingers."

"Long fingers."

"This is how he operates on a patient he likes," Charles said, "I'd hate to see him work on someone he hates."

"Hop up on the table, Charles, I'll open you up next, graft you in a sense of humor."

"Throw in some humility while you're at it," BJ agreed.

"Do I have to remind you that you're working on one of our own?" Colonel Potter grumbled.

"Found it!" Hawkeye cheered as he held up the bullet. "Come again? Oh. Almost back to the scapula, but minimal damage to the pectoral muscles. No. I'll see what I can do behind door number two. So far she's earned herself a week of R and R and a medal for accidental heroism and not bleeding on the upholstery."

"A medal," Charles scoffed.

"Injured in the line of duty," BJ shrugged. "That's the major requirement for all the good ones. If you're jealous, Charles, I'm sure we can arrange an injury for you."

"Dammit!"

"What?" Radar gasped.

"I was afraid of this," Hawkeye hissed.

"What? Is it bad? What's happening?" he demanded over the sound of Tim's voice in the phone.

"No, all the arteries are fine. It's the radial nerve. Yup. Straight through."

"Oh no," Colonel Potter sighed.

"Oh no what?" Radar demanded.

"Nicked the cephalic vein too, that's our bleeder. I need a clamp. It's right at the branch. Suture."

"Hawkeye, what's wrong with her?" Radar demanded, dropping the phone to his side.

"The bullet broke through one of her nerves, that's all. She's gonna be fine, but she'll have limited mobility in her arm. It's gonna be her ticket home, Radar."

"You mean you can't fix her arm?"

"You can't fix a nerve. It's just about the only thing we haven't figured out how to fix yet, once it breaks it stays pretty well broken. Unless Tim knows something we don't."

"Tim? Oh," Radar gasped. "Sorry." He lifted the phone back up to Hawkeye's ear, but not before muttering a hurried apology to Tim as well.

"You have any suggestions, Tim? Yeah. Uh-huh. Right, yeah. Of course. Write your mother, tell her Liv'll be there in a couple weeks and she'll be dying for a meal that hasn't been powdered. Well it's the radial nerve, I think a prerequisite for army nurse is two thumbs that are wholly opposable. I mean I know Liv's a great kid, but unless she found a way to work her arm without nerve impulses, I don't see any way around it. Yeah, I'll be the first to sign her papers. Not that I wanna get rid of her, but I know Hollywood misses her as much as she misses Hollywood. Sorry to call you up for such a boring surgery. Yeah, us too. As long as Radar doesn't mind. See you around. Alright Radar, that's it."

"As long as I don't mind what?" he asked, dropping the phone to his side and rubbing his shoulder.

"Tim told me to give Liv a hug for him."

"Oh, no, I don't mind that."

"Thanks. You might wanna get back to work now, we're gonna start stitching her up here in a minute, and we don't want you fainting in here again."

"Yes sir," he agreed numbly and put the phone back before wandering out of the OR.


End file.
